


Hello

by gingerpunches



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M, Marriage, Rimming, Romance, connor is a bottom and loves it fight me, connor's first birthday!, does that count, markus plays matchmaker because it's not like he has anything else to do, not really a beach episode but theyre at a pool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15699672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerpunches/pseuds/gingerpunches
Summary: Connor hasn't ever had a birthday. He woke in a cold, white room, with nothing more than a preamble to his programmed existence.Hank wants to change that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this. kind of? stands alone. it references my other two works but it can be read by itself. happy birthday connor! or, negative birthday. see you in twenty years!

“Do you guys have -  _ birthdays?” _

Markus blinks and turns around to face Hank more fully. Hank blinks back, feeling his face heat in embarrassment before glancing away. 

“Nevermind,” Hank says. “Probably a stupid question -“

“I guess it would depend on the android,” Markus interrupts. His face lights up in a smile, those mismatched eyes bright with enjoyment. “Why? Thinking about Connor?”

Hank is  _ definitely  _ blushing now, he can feel it. He scrubs the back of his neck and tries to wrangle in the heat burning his face. “It’s just been a little under a year since we met, and I was thinking about Cole’s birthday when Connor’s came up. That’s all.”

Markus sidesteps a small child that weaves between them, smiling at the apologetic mother that chases after her. He glances around the mall, taking in the flashy storefronts and well-kept crowd roaming the wide thoroughfares. Hank had said he needed help looking for something for Connor, but hadn’t specified exactly why - he’s pretty sure the android is beginning to put two and two together.

Because yeah, he  _ was  _ looking for a gift for Connor. But buying clothes seemed cheap, especially since Hank often found himself coming home with something new to expand Connor’s wardrobe every time he was out. Whether that be a new blazer or just a silly shirt he saw at a thrift store, it was a common gift that he didn’t want to get for something like Connor’s first  _ birthday. _

Which leads him to now. Markus hums thoughtfully and turns back to Hank, a smile still on his face.

“Do you know his manufacture date?” Markus asks. 

Hank thinks for a moment. “Uh, I know his serial number. Can we look it up that way?”

“No, that information isn’t available to us like that. But I can ask,” he says. He pauses for a moment, then makes eye contact again - Hank eyes him warily. Markus just grins. “August fifteenth. That’s close. We could probably plan something like a surprise party. What does he like to do?”

Hank shrugs. He didn’t think he’d get this far - but now that the opportunity is presented to him, he can’t resist. He always liked planning for Cole’s birthdays just to see the elated smile on his little round face.

“Well, since it’s kinda warm out, he might want to swim soon,” Hank says. “He likes the pool at our gym. I have to drag him out every time. Kid’s a goddamn fish.”

Markus laughs at that. “I guess we all have our hyperfixations. Okay, so a pool party. I bet we could rent a place for a day.”

“I don’t have that kind of money,” Hank says. He probably does - but not for a gift and the pool at the same time.

Markus waves him off. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Carl.”

“Christ,” Hank mutters. “I don’t need to be in debt to  _ him.” _

“It’s not a debt, I promise. It’s the least I could do. Now,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. “What about a gift?”

Hank hems and haws for the rest of the day, unable to really decide on what to actually  _ get  _ for Connor. Connor doesn’t eat, doesn’t need exercise, and has very little preference for what he wears as long as it’s dark blue or grey and at least marginally expensive if it’s a suit. But he likes dogs, has taken a shine to keeping some indoor plants that require massive amounts of doting, and has shown interest in home aquariums lately. He also enjoys watching movies and listening to music in the traditional sense. By the time they meander through the sixth store still empty-handed, Markus pushes a little harder and Hank finally buys something.

Well, multiple things. He gets some records that Connor can actually call his own and a new record player. Markus pays out the nose for a sleek new three piece that he custom orders from a men’s dress wear store - a heather grey jacket and slacks with the tri-cut blazer that fits Connor so nicely, with a darker vest and shirt. They both pick out a tie, Markus’ a smart black with silver honeycomb designs sewn in, and Hank’s an ugly pastel floral that he gets as a joke but knows Connor will enjoy. He calls it a day after that mostly because it’s embarrassing to admit to Markus that he was thinking of finding a ring for Connor, and Markus only relents when he manages to weasel Connor’s ring size out of Hank after they get in Hank’s cruiser.

“How do you even know that?” Markus laughs.

Hank grumbles. “You think I’d go out and look for something like that without figuring it out?”

Markus snorts. “I mean, sure. But how?”

Hank digs in his pocket and pulls out his old wedding ring. He holds it out to Markus for him to inspect - the android does, plucking it out from between his fingers and turning it around in his palm. It’s a plain gold band with a stripe of titanium running around the center, thin and barely noticeable unless the light catches it just right. It had matched Sara’s, once upon a time - he idly wonders if she ever kept it.

“You sized him compared to yours,” Markus says after a minute. Hank nods and holds his hand out for the ring - Markus drops it in his palm with a sly grin. “I wonder if he caught on?”

“I’m not seriously considering it,” Hank says. Maybe just a tad too defensively. He tries not to think about it. “I mean, we’ve only known each other for ten months. And I hated him at first. Not exactly a great foundation, if you ask me.”

“No, but I also don’t think he’s aiming to spend time with anyone else. You could maybe talk about it and see if he’s amenable to the idea? Of staying together for a while, I mean.”

Hank chews on that theory on the drive to Carl’s mansion. Markus sits quietly, politely giving Hank space. The smug pride radiating off of him is almost palpable by the time Hank pulls up to the curb at Carl’s place, but Hank says nothing, just raises his brow and offers a small but grateful smile.

“I’ll let you know about the pool option in a little bit,” Markus says with a grin. Then it drops away, suddenly serious again. “Remember to talk to him, Hank. He’s smart - he’ll know what he wants.”

“Thanks,” Hank mumbles with a grimace. “Spending the rest of his long life strapped to an old man. I’m sure that’s what he wants.”

“You’re not old,” Markus teases. “Trust me. You cut a nice figure with all that weight you’ve lost.”

Hank snorts despite the heat he feels rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Say hi to the others for me.”

Markus gives another winning smile and waves before shutting the cruiser door. Hank waits until the android is safely inside before pulling away from the curb, his heart and thoughts racing.

August fifteenth. A week away - a week to plan something nice for Connor. He sighs and rubs his eyes, feeling a headache coming on stronger than anything he’s felt while hungover. It gets worse when he gets home and gets an email from Markus detailing the pool they’re holding the party at - a rentable public space with a four figure price tag attached to it that’s already been paid in full. Hank chokes on his own spit, startling Connor from where he’d been quietly completing a five thousand piece puzzle at the kitchen table. Hank manages to wave him off, but not before glancing at the android’s hands and imagining just how nice a ring would look on his left ring finger.

Jesus Christ. He’s fucked. He’s  _ screwed.  _ And he’s got a week to talk himself out of it.

 

——

 

And, naturally, he doesn’t.

To his credit, Connor doesn’t suspect a thing. For all his processing power and advanced observing skills, Connor is completely oblivious when Hank suggests they call in and take the day off. Which yeah, is sort of odd - it’s a Monday, and neither of them were particularly busy but they were juggling three pretty bizarre cases that demands their attention even at home. Their coffee table is littered with copies of the evidence and written reports, some scrawled on in Hank’s neat blocky script and Connor’s more messy cursive. They come home tired more often than not, and Connor has already pulled two twenty-four hour shifts to try and catch their killers.

But it’s just one Monday. Hank manages to convince Connor to sleep in, to relax and take some time for himself. Odd, sure, considering Connor doesn’t really need the rest, but be smiles in that small, appreciative little way of his and lounges in bed for most of the morning. Hank does too, content to bask in this little moment until the mood shifts and he gets a lap full of squirming android.

He gets a cramp in his wrist from fingering Connor until he comes but it’s worth it for the way he practically melts under Hank’s hands. Connor is warm and content in his arms, and despite being oversensitive, somehow convinces Hank to take his own pleasure where he needs it (not that he needed much cajoling anyway). Connor ends up pressed flat against the sheets, belly-down as Hank rolls into him in slow, slick thrusts. Hank doesn’t get long to feel guilty about it when Connor is so vocal this time, so much more than usual thank Hank thinks he’s performing until Connor shakes apart under him in the quietest orgasm he’s ever managed to wrench from him. Connor is boneless when Hank rolls away, eyes heavy lidded and smile so dopey Hank realizes it was the oversensitivity that made him so loud. 

Which, yeah. The biggest ego boost of Hank’s sad little life - fucking an android so good he can’t move. Hank snorts and wrangles the both of them into the shower, washing his own sweat off Connor’s skin and his anxiety about the party later in the day down the drain.

He shoots a quick text message to Markus confirming that everyone will be there and then gets dressed, carefully laying out Connor’s clothes as well when he comes back in from combing his hair into something respectable, that little errant curl sticking stubbornly to his forehead despite it.

Connor raises a brow at the clothes put out for him and looks at Hank, the first signs of suspicion lighting up those warm brown eyes. Hank almost thinks he’s caught before Connor smiles and dresses himself.

“You could have asked if I wanted to go swimming,” Connor says. Not accusing, just conversationally. Hank breathes an internal sign of relief as Connor slips on his board shorts and tee shirt without putting up a fight.

“Just wanted to make sure we matched,” Hank lies. In reality they kind of don’t - Hank shrugs on a differently colored Hawaiian shirt to try and make it look like he wasn’t, the pinks and reds of his shirt sort of matching the more calm crimson of Connor’s shorts. His shirt is similarly undecorated, just a black soft cotton vee neck with a red circle embroidered over the left breast. It was meant to be the company’s logo, but it looked so much like an LED that they bought it despite the stupid thing being thirty bucks. Fashion hurts, he guesses.

Connor smiles brightly regardless. “Thank you. You look nice too, Hank.”

Goddamn android. Hank smiles through his blush and tugs Connor forward, kissing him despite his embarrassment. Connor returns the kiss with a quiet passion that nearly drives them back to bed, but Hank stops it before either of them get too handsy. He steers Connor out to the car instead, patting Sumo on the head and telling him to be good on their way out.

Connor, however, gets incredibly more suspicious when Hank starts to head in the opposite direction of their normal gym. He turns and blinks at Hank, one perfect brow coming up in silent askance. Hank pretends not to notice as his heart rate picks up.

Connor, naturally, notices. “You’re hiding something from me.”

His LED flashes yellow, an insistent blinking in the corner of Hank’s vision. He flaps his hand, trying to diffuse that confusion on Connor’s face and failing rather spectacularly. “Look, we’re just gonna try a different place, okay? That’s all.”

“Our normal gym is quite fitting to your needs,” Connor counters. “It’s quiet and not too crowded, with many of the normal exercise machines you use being spread apart between patrons, giving you the space you need to not feel observed. It also has showers and a sauna to relax after your two hours -“

“Connor,” Hank complains. Connor shuts up, his teeth clacking shut. “Please. Just trust me.”

He shouldn’t be looking away from the road, but pleading with his eyes is the only way he’s learned to get Connor to back off. His android is incredibly smart and perceptive, but he also emphasizes eye contact when they’re arguing.  _ It makes it easier to observe accurate reactions _ Connor had said one time, but Hank suspects Connor is much more sentimental than that.

Connor relents and nods. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

His smile is soft, and he glances away at the same time Hank does, though Hank keeps a careful eye on him. He huffs and reaches across the center console, intertwining their fingers when Connor slips his palm against his own.

“Stupid android,” he mutters.

Connor preens under the insult. “Smart human,” he says, voice thick and fond.

Hank rolls his eyes.  _ Just wait until you see what I have in store for you. Won’t think I’m too smart then. _

The rest of the car ride is uneventful. Hank finds a parking spot next to Chris’ car - which gets an eyebrow raise from Connor - and takes Connor’s hand as they walk up to the gated entrance to the pool. It’s significantly less busy because of Carl’s rental of one of the corner spaces, but families and children still swim in the huge L-shaped pool, crowding in pockets of chattering groups while others wade through the blue water. The sun isn’t quite high enough to be blazing, but a digital thermostat clipped onto a lifeguard tower reads eighty-five degrees at only one in the afternoon. 

Hank suddenly feels heat a lot more acutely as he leads a curious Connor around the edge of the pool to a crowd of familiar people. Thankfully, Connor is much too engrossed in scanning everything around him, LED a blinking yellow as he cranes his neck this way and that. No one stares, but people do take notice, and Hank hurries him along to get prying eyes away from him at least for a bit.

As they approach, Chris notices them and pops up from his seat around a table with an umbrella sticking out of the center. He rounds the group of their friends with a smile and claps a friendly hand on Connor’s shoulder as the android looks on in confusion.

“It’s nice to see you here,” Connor says. Chris snorts and Connor leans to look behind him, his smile tightening in confusion. “Naomi too. And Markus, Josh, Simon, North…”

He rattles down the line, greeting everyone with a stilted wave. Dylan and North wave, while Markus and the rest of his crew smile like hyenas, hiding something behind their backs. Carl waves as well, dressed smartly in white shorts and button down. Ben and his husband loiter nearby, sipping sodas and grinning, and Reed and Fowler hang at the fringes of the crowd, looking incredibly uncomfortable and like they’d rather be somewhere else. Fowler’s wife, Namibia, however, is beaming, even as her husband tries desperately not to glower at Hank.

Probably not a good idea to invite them, then. But the growing, happy smile on Connor’s face is worth it when Hank comes up to his side and tilts his head towards Markus, Josh, and Simon. 

“It’s a surprise party, of course,” Markus says with a wink in Hank’s direction. “And not all of us can eat it. But Happy Birthday, Connor. The first of many.”

He produces a sheet cake from behind him, big enough that Josh and Simon have to help him hold it as he sets it on the table. It has white frosting with blue, yellow, and red candles spelling out Connor’s name, along with his manufacture date in sweeping blue frosting under it. Little candy dog prints track across it in uneven loops, as if a tiny Sumo had wobbled along its surface, leaving paw prints behind him. Hank watches as Connor’s eyes widen and his face fall into surprise, and in that moment he knows he did the right thing.

Connor turns to Hank as his eyes start to shine with tears. Hank curls his hand around Connor’s hip and tips his head in the direction of the others, feeling his own wide smile pull at his lips.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” he says. “Sorry if it’s a surprise. I didn’t want to ruin in.”

Connor’s hands twist in his shirt over his stomach. He looks around at everyone again, meeting their eyes and trying really hard not to cry. Hank rubs his back and Connor leans back into the touch, something like wonder coloring his face as his cheeks turn a dusty pink.

“Thank you guys,” he croaks. His shirt twists further - Hank soothes him so he doesn’t rip the damn thing. “I… really didn’t think about this. A birthday, I mean. I wasn’t really born…”

“Kind of the same thing at this point,” Chris says. He shrugs. “Besides, what other excuse do you have to see Fowler in swim trunks?”

“You don’t watch it and I’ll leave right now. There’s lots of work to be done at the station,” Fowler warns.

Namibia snorts. “Please. When was the last time you actually relaxed?”

A low wave of laughter floats between all of them - even Reed snickers along. Markus hushes all of them and picks up the lighter next to the cake, brandishing it for Hank to take.

“Want to do the honors?” he asks.

Hank shrugs. “Sure.”

He carefully lights the candles and then sets the lighter aside to where Damien can’t reach, then steps away for Connor to take his place. Connor does so anxiously, LED still yellow, looking like a frightened animal backed into a corner.

“Just make a wish,” Hank says quietly. Connor leans into him when Hank steps up behind him, a heavy weight, but also a warm one. Connor sucks in a shaky breath and blows out all the candles in one go - everyone breaks out into clapping and cheering loud enough that it gets other people in the pool laughing and clapping too.

“Happy Birthday!” some of them shout. Connor waves awkwardly, shouting a thank you back. Naomi smiles at him softly and gets up to help him cut the cake.

The human half of their party eats cake while the android half is content enough to sit and take part in the conversation. Their group is big enough that they split unevenly across two tables: Hank, Connor, Chris, Naomi, Markus, and Reed in one group, while Carl, North, Simon, Dylan, Josh, Fowler, and Namibia sit in the other. Ben and his husband say their goodbyes and head back to the station - someone has to hold down the fort - and before Hank realizes, the first hour of the party passes in conversation as everyone talks up Connor.

“You and Damien share the same birthday, you know,” Naomi says after a while. 

Connor turns to her, slightly alarmed. “Why aren’t we having a party for him too, then? Why just me?”

Naomi shrugs. Damien, now one, giggles in her lap as she bounces him. “We are. He has presents - but he doesn’t like cake, surprisingly. The candles scare him.”

Connor frowns. He looks down at Damien, who is now playing gently with his mother’s hair. Hank smirks as Connor tries to reconcile Damien’s fear with his own birthday.

“It’s okay, Connor,” Naomi laughs. “Trust me. He’s one - he won’t remember it.”

“Still.”

Naomi tuts and waves him towards the pool. “Please. Just enjoy yourself. I promise it’s alright.”

Hank watches as Connor reluctantly stands up and sheds his shirt and sandals. Markus and the others do as well, and before Connor can second guess himself, Markus picks him up over one well-toned shoulder and tosses Connor into the deep end of the pool.

To say Hank and the others laugh is an understatement. The look of pure betrayal on Connor’s face when he surfaces is enough to send even Fowler into a fit of side-burning guffaws, and Damien even giggles along as Naomi tries not to bend over in stitches. Hank tries as hard as he can not to snort as Connor turns his glare on him, but ultimately he fails - Connor’s stare only gets more heated.

It disappears under a spray of water as Markus and the others dive in after him. A game of marco polo ensues, rendered pretty much useless with Markus and Connor’s hyper advanced proximity sensors sending them accurately across their corner of the pool at their friends. North, Simon, Josh, and Dylan don’t stand a chance against them, and are swiftly smashed within ten minutes of the game starting.

Connor splits off after that to spend time making laps across the pool. He doesn’t ever tire, and the swimming is calming for him, so they let him for a time. It isn’t until people start to filter out of the pool to go home does Hank finally talk himself into getting into the pool. Chris and Naomi follow him, leaving Damien with Fowler and Namibia, but they split off to screw around with Markus while Hank wades to Connor on his twentieth lap back across the length of the pool.

“You trying to work off some energy?” Hank muses as he gets close to his android. 

Connor slows down and paddles to Hank, keeping his shoulders barely above the water as he does. He slicks his hair back and smiles anxiously at Hank.

“It’s kind of daunting, I guess,” he says. He glances around at the rest of the group starting another game of marco polo, but this time with Markus’ proximity sensors off. He looks back at Hank, expression softening. “Did you plan this?”

Hank scratches his beard. It’s weird being in the water again, feeling the cool slide of it along his skin and tugging his hair. He nods at Connor, grinning as he blushes. “Yeah. Markus suggested it be a surprise, but I had been thinking about.”

Connor smiles more timidly and moves closer. His arms worm around Hank’s shoulders and Hank hugs him, letting the water’s buoyancy keep them afloat as he leans back as their foreheads come together. 

“That’s why he asked what my manufacture date was,” Connor murmurs. “I was confused why he wanted it, but I get it now. Thank you.”

Hank shrugs. “It’s the least I could do. I wouldn’t deprive you of a birthday even if I tried.”

They float like that for a while, and the others leave them be. Connor is surprisingly light in the water, and his skin feels warm and cool at the same time, probably a combination of his low body temperature and the warmth of the sun. Hank chances a kiss against Connor’s cheek and Connor leans into it, huffing out a laugh. 

“Y’know, it’s funny,” Connor says. Hank makes a questioning noise and Connor continues, tone curious. “I remember the first day I was initialized. It was at Cyberlife Tower, but Kamski was there overseeing everything. I guess because I was a joint investment between them and Kamski wanted to be there to see how I responded to being woken. 

But it was such an … uneventful morning. I woke up, I ran through my systems checklist, I did a physical so they knew all my mechanical systems were working… And then I was sent for preliminary testing. Three days later I was on my first case, the one with the deviant holding the little girl hostage on the roof.”

“Not even a “hello” when you woke up?” Hank asks, incredulous.

“Nope,” Connor quips. “Kamski said “good morning”, and asked me my name, but it was a test of my audio and response systems. Nothing more. Or less.”

Hank frowns. “Well, good evening, Connor. And hello.”

Connor smiles. He kisses Hank full on the mouth, though quick and chaste. “Hello, Hank. It’s nice to meet you.”

They laugh at their joke and hang out in the pool for a while. Hank starts to prune, so they get out, prompting others to escape to the tables for conversation again. At some point gifts were brought out, and Connor’s eyes light up at the sight of his small pile.

“Guys,” he whines. “You shouldn’t…”

“Too bad,” Hank says. He picks up a couple gifts and holds them out - two from Chris and Naomi. “Birthdays mean cake and gifts. This is part two.”

Connor smiles, abashed, and sits next to him in a chair. Everyone else crowds around, Markus and his entourage particularly interested, though North tries to hide it in the wet curtain of her chestnut hair. 

Connor, just like at Christmas, carefully peels away the paper of each gift like he’s afraid to ruin it despite that being its purpose. The first two gifts are small but expensive: a new pair of grey clothed oxfords from Naomi, and a black stainless steel chronograph watch with dark blue faces and time markers from Chris. The second makes Connor laugh - he has a clock in his brain that runs constantly - but he also cradles it gently, careful to put it on his still-damp wrist to test the weight of it.

“First Christmas, now this,” Connor says. “You guys are seriously too kind.”

Naomi and Chris shrug. “You’re a good friend, Connor,” Chris says. “Even if the watch is kind of redundant.”

Connor laughs. “Yes. But it’s still incredibly nice.”

The other gifts are along the same vein, with a couple more records on top of Hank’s and another tie. Markus helps him carefully unbox the new suit he ordered the week before, which  _ does  _ elicit tears. Reed got him a small potted succulent for his desk at work - more than anyone expected him to get, which gets everyone smiling - and Fowler has a sheaf of paperwork detailing Connor’s recognized personhood and his passing of all department tests and exams with a large embossed gold seal on the front. A little cold, but it gets Connor smiling anyway, and he carefully hides the papers away in his suit box so they don’t get wet. 

Damien opens gifts too, toys and baby clothes and a couple cases of diapers to keep his parents going. After gifts are opened, they all take part in a little more cake and then clean up, splitting off to their cars after a heartfelt goodbye.

Markus is the last to linger while his group heads to the large rental they’d gotten for everyone and Carl. He carefully hugs Hank, slipping a small box into his palm that feels heavier than it is when he steps away. He hugs Connor a little longer and tighter, gripping him until Hank can almost hear his chassis creaking.

“I just want you to know how much we all care,” Markus says as he steps away. He smiles gently at Connor, holding his shoulders as Connor searches his eyes. “I know you think you entered this too late, or that you don’t deserve any of this… but there’s a lot of people around you that love you. I just want you to remember that.”

Connor nods solemnly. “I know. I’m working on that. Today… really helped me see.”

Markus smiles more fully. “Good.” He tips his head to Hank, meeting his eyes - Hank glares as he pockets the box as discreetly as he can. “You’ve got a good man, too. Hold onto him.”

Connor tries to hide his blush by dipping his chin, but even in the fading light, it’s visible. Markus pats them both on the shoulder and retreats to his group, cajoling them all as he gets close. Hank and Connor watch them go before pilong Connor’s gifts into the car carefully and getting in.

“Thank you,” Connor says softly as they start to head home. “I know that was hard for you, being around all those people. But… thank you.”

The ring sits heavy in Hank’s pocket, a burning weight screaming to be let out. He knows which ring Markus had bought, too - a sterling silver band with three square opals set across the face of the band, a soft but beautiful stone that shimmered with all the colors of Connor’s LED. He’d stared at it a bit longer than normal that day in the mall, and of course Markus had noticed.

And course the fucker  _ bought it _ too. But Hank decides against giving it to him, letting Connor have this day as it's meant to be. They can talk about the meaning of the ring later.

“You’re alright,” Hank says instead. He reaches across and takes his hand, smiling as the android’s skin peels away. “Hello, Connor.”

Connor grins, small and bright and lopsided, but so, so precious. “Hello, Hank.”

Yeah. It’s a good day. They can wait on the ring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i added another chapter to this because so many people wanted it. if you want to see the honeymoon, let me know!

He sits on the ring for almost a year.

Markus isn’t too pleased about it, though Hank can’t blame him. It was an expensive piece of titanium that he had to go through a whole lot of effort to hide from one of the most advanced pieces of technology roaming his house. Almost like a game of hide and seek, except Connor is a prototype detective android designed to catalog and understand even the smallest pieces of suspicious information.

So yeah. Hank buys a safe.

He sticks his revolver and ammunition inside, along with papers to his house and car. Connor’s original manufacture documents go inside as well, a sheaf of cardstock printed with such terrifying specifics on his mechanical parts as well as how to wipe his memory with nothing but a few keystrokes that Hank is wary to even allow any copies to exist anywhere else. But he’s been learning how to fix minor injuries to Connor’s less sensitive parts at home so he doesn’t spend so much time around the techs at the precinct, so he begrudgingly prints off a copy and hides it in his dresser.

But the ring… He ends up wrapping it in soft cloth and hiding it in an ammunition box under some pictures of Cole. Connor won’t touch them - his own service weapon is locked in a box in the bedside table when they’re not at work - and while Hank gives him the combination for the safe, Connor is likely not inclined to open it. It’s a place to store important things rather than a thing they access all the time, so he feels comfortable stuffing it in the back on the side of the closet they don’t use so much as the weather starts to cool. Connor leaves it be, content with the safety of his documents along with Hank’s. Hank, for the most part, forgets about it.

For a year. Cases come and go, more android laws get ratified, and sometime in October, Connor officially graduates from the Academy with his class of human peers even though his paperwork has been filed since the previous December. 

He dons his blues early in the morning, all crisp, laundered lines and a pleased smile. Hank pins on his badge at the ceremony - a large affair held inside the Academy’s auditorium to a crowd of some several hundred proud family members and the interested public - along with Chris’ new golden rope for his graduation from officer to Sergeant. He jokes that he would have taken the empty Detective position, but he didn’t want to overshadow Connor’s success as the first officially employed android for Detroit.

Which, yeah. This particular graduation ceremony is definitely for Connor’s benefit because the Mayor even shows up to shake his hand and wish him well. Her smile is easy and honest, and her positive reception of him influenced the rest of the crowd to whoop and cheer when he walks across the stage to sit with his newly graduated peers. 

It’s a good day. Hank considers proposing then, but the moment comes and goes as they all go out with Chris’ family to celebrate. 

Next time, then. There’s no rush, he thinks.

And then Connor’s birthday comes up again.

“Are you ever going to pop the question?” Markus asks the day before Connor’s birthday. 

Hank glares and sets his bag of tools down on the low table next to him. Connor needs maintenance that requires him to power almost completely down, so they decided to do it at the safety of Carl’s mansion. Simon was kind enough to supervise to teach Hank, but Markus had swiftly taken the opportunity to harass Hank about the ring. Simon had just smiled in that serene way of his and floated off after Markus kissed him, and god  _ damnit  _ they were all in on it, weren’t they?

Stupid android Jesus. Hank pointedly doesn’t answer as he rolls a stool over to the re-purposed dentist’s lounging chair in the center of the workshop, laying out the needed tools on a sterile cloth on the table next to him. Markus circles the well/lit room, his hands behind his back, a contemplative look on his face that reads danger for Hank’s blood pressure right before Connor walks in the door.

“I apologize,” Connor says quickly. He rushes to the chair and shucks his blazer before starting on the buttons of his shirt, his hair in disarray and his LED spinning yellow as his lips pinch into a thin line. Hank feels the tension melt out of him with Connor so close. “Our new detective is particularly disorganized, and he makes his disdain for androids known in every third sentence.”

“Is he worse than Reed?” Hank jokes.

Connor gives him a look and shrugs out of his shirt. Markus takes it and folds it neatly before setting it and Connor’s blazer on a table with the all-purpose terminal nearby. 

Connor smiles at Markus before sitting back in the chair in front of Hank. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Gavin is at least tolerable now.”

Hank snorts and rubs a soothing hand up Connor’s forearm. Connor’s smile softens, his hand upturning to grip Hank’s fingers in a quiet embrace. Markus bustles behind him, shifting a data cord from where its wound around a peg on the side of the table across the floor to hand the pronged end to Connor

“We can monitor your status with this while you’re under,” Markus says. Connor nods and plugs the cord into a port that slides open on the back of his neck. The terminal whirrs to life as he does, his system information popping up along with the diagnostic that will run as Hank works. He reclines on the chair and retracts the skin over his chest and stomach, revealing shiny grey and white plastic.

Hank swallows thickly and moves to where Markus indicates, shifting close enough so that he’s practically looming over Connor. He’s suddenly unsure even though he wants to learn to do this - and Connor, of course, catches on. 

“I can go get fixed at the precinct,” Connor says gently. “It’s just a faulty tertiary processor. I can function without it for now.”

Hank swallows down the fear clogging his throat and shakes his head once, resolute. “No. I need to learn how, in case there isn’t time to take you somewhere.”

Connor touches Hank’s jaw, his fingers lightly combing through his beard. Something unreadable crosses his face, LED spinning and eyes hardening. It had just been a little fall - a slip in an alleyway as Connor chased a suspect through the damp inner veins of south Detroit. He’d faltered just enough that the suspect slipped away, and when Hank bullied him into going for a checkup, he came back with a misaligned processor and damaged chassis paneling.

Not so bad, in the grand scheme of things. But his processing speed had throttled enough that it was noticeable on casework, so by the time the end of the week rolled around, Hank had worked up the courage to offer to fix it.

After a moment, Connor’s hand drops. The terminal dings with his successful memory upload and data connection, and then he settles back, his expression soft as he relaxes. “Alright. Let Markus guide you through. My internal layout shouldn’t be much different from his own.”

Markus settles on a stool on his other side and smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t point out anything too embarrassing.”

Connor rolls his eyes. He lays back fully, his eyes closing and LED cycling from blue, to yellow, to a pulsing, slow red. His chassis plates click as they open, revealing the black steel of his rib cage and the cluster of twinkling processing cords and the bright blue web of his thirium vascular system stretching across everything inside. Nestled in the center and slightly left of his spine is his beating heart, pumping in time with his thirium pump, a glowing blue organ of silicone and steel.

And right next to it is a processing array, dark unlike its twin pairs on Connor’s other side. Markus points to it and gently moves a thick thirium line out of the way, his fingers careful in what is essentially Connor’s organs.

“This is his tertiary processor,” Markus says. “I can’t tell you what it handles, since our body plan is slightly different and our initial purpose wasn’t the same, but it’s basically a third brain.”

Hank frowns. “So why isn’t it in his head?”

Markus smiles. “Because why would our brain be in something so easy to break?”

Yeah, he’s got Hank there. He picks up the tools Markus indicates and slips on a no-static bracelet, then gently follows Markus’ lead as he picks out the damaged pieces of the array.

They’re surprisingly thin little pieces of metal: flimsy pieces of dark, brushed steel with hair-thin copper circuits crawling across it in swirling angles. Unlike its sister processors, its lights are out, and the thirium lines passing between each of the fifteen layers are empty of blue blood.

Markus helps him detach the processor array from Connor’s spine by plucking away some of the harder to reach wires while Hank handles the thirium connections. It’s tricky to get the whole array out from where it’s cloistered away underneath Connor’s heart, but Hank wills his hands to be steady despite the anxiety thick in his chest, and he manages to pop off the last connection and pulls it out without any damage to anything else.

“It’s heavy,” Hank comments as he places it gently on the table next to his tools. It’s maybe four inches long and three inches wide, some of its damaged layers missing from where Hank had pried them away. Otherwise it looks like a wafer cookie, textured on both of its surface plates in a criss-cross pattern designed to spread heat evenly. 

“How hard did you say he fell?” Markus asks.

Hank frowns. “I mean, he fell pretty hard, but he still got up. He didn’t hit his head or anything”

“Yeah, but any hard jostle like an unexpected fall can dislodge this sort of stuff.”

“Kind of a shitty design, if you ask me,” Hank grumbles.

Markus snorts and picks up the fresh processor out of its static-resistant foam casing on the table near him. He carefully hands it over and helps Hank click it into place, his fingers moving deftly to reconnect all the wires and thirium lines. When they pull away, it blinks to life, the terminal chiming a cheerful little tune as thirium rushes into the reconnected veins.

But before Hank can start on replacing the lightly damaged chassis plates - something he’s intimately familiar with now, and can probably do in his sleep - Markus stops him with a hard hand on his wrist.

Hank twists his hand away and glares right back as Markus’ mismatched eyes find his. “What? I do this all the time.”

Markus’ expression lightens with a smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Hank blinks. “Then what?”

“The ring,” Markus says. “It’s been a year, Hank.”

“Jesus,” Hank breathes. He opens the case on the table next to him containing fresh chassis plates, crisp and new from the 3D printer. “This is my life, Markus. Not a fuckin’...  _ dating show.” _

Markus laughs lightly. He doesn’t intervene as Hank passes a small industrial-strength magnet over some of Connor’s damaged chassis pieces on his left side, lifting them away and replacing them with new ones. They click into place, the only sound filling the workshop as the tense silence stretches between them. 

Hank eventually breaks it as heat floods his face. Despite his anger, he closes Connor’s chest panels gently with a soft click. He shakes his head when Markus leans over to the terminal to start Connor’s wake up program.

“Why does it matter to you so much?” Hank says tightly. Markus quirks a brow and Hank frowns, pointing at him accusingly. “Do you know something I don’t know?”

Markus’ expression softens. He reaches fully for the terminal and interfaces with it, Connor’s completed diagnostic falling away as something strange starts to play on the screen.

“Is this a memory?” Hank asks incredulously. Markus just smiles as the terminal continues, Connor’s face eventually coming into view.

He’s sitting here at Carl’s mansion, in the main sitting room with a datapad in one hand and a pen in the other. Hank can’t see what’s on the datapad from the reverse side, but Connor only ever comes here for social calls or to help Markus with Jericho business, so he assumes it’s one of the two. Markus - or at least, he assumes this is who the memory is from judging by the perspective - is seated across from him, his HUD slightly different from Connor’s, not so much scanning taking place and a complete absence of any active background systems monitoring.

_ “You said Hank has been acting strange?”  _ Memory-Markus says in the replay. Connor looks up, his expression unreadable.

“ _ I said he’s protecting something,”  _ Connor says. “ _ Whether it’s something he wants to tell me or not, I don’t know.” _

_ “I think I might know, but I don’t want to pry. I kind of pushed him into thinking about something, though.” _

Connor’s expression shifts. It’s more pointed and concerned, and his LED flickers briefly before settling.  _ “What did you say? Is it something bad?” _

Markus laughs.  _ “No! It’s actually good. But I don’t want to ruin the surprise. It’s a gift.” _

Connor’s brows knit.  _ “My birthday isn’t for another several months. A gift?” _

_ “A big one,”  _ Markus says.  _ “A commitment, you could say.” _

Connor is a smart man. A perceptive man. Recognition crosses his face and he looks almost shocked, color coming to his cheeks and his mouth opening into an “oh.”

_ “No,” _ Connor says.  _ “Markus. Are you telling the truth?” _

Markus doesn’t speak, but his vision bobs as he nods. The memory cuts away as Connor shoots out of his seat with an excited smile on his face, the diagnostic popping back up as Markus’ hand falls away from the screen.

Hank glares. Hard. 

“Meddle in my business again and I won’t be so nice when you need help from the DPD,” Hank growls.

“He deserves to know,” Markus says. His expression is soft but unapologetic, and so is his tone. “He  _ does _ know. But he wants to, Hank. For a long time. He loves you.”

Hank just clicks the last piece of Connor’s chassis in place and watches as it all closes itself up. His skin slides over it, smooth and peppered with beauty marks in a seemingly random pattern. Markus wordlessly initiated his wake program, and while he reboots from the fresh processor reinstall, Hank gathers his tools.

“Don’t,” Hank hisses, pointing the last of his hardware at Markus as he puts it away. “Don’t say  _ anything _ to him.”

“Say what?” Connor says. He sits up, glancing between the two of them with a wrinkle between his brows.

“Nothing, Connor,” Hank says. He kisses Connor’s hair and helps him dress even if it’s unnecessary, enjoying the intimacy even as heat boils under his skin. Markus lets them be, ducking out of the room with a knowing grin on his face.  

Stupid android Jesus. What did he know, anyway?

 

——

 

He ends up digging the ring out of the safe in the early morning the next day while Connor is out walking Sumo. His birthday is a Wednesday this year, another weekday requiring them to work despite it being Connor’s birthday. And despite Hank’s efforts to arrange time off, they ended up smack dab in the middle of a new case with barely any leads besides the recently deceased’s shady wife, and Connor was loathe to leave a puzzle unsolved so early on. 

So they got up at six, had breakfast, and while Hank showered and got ready, Connor went for a stroll to give Sumo company before they left. And even if Connor knew what Hank was up to - or at least Markus had implied he had - Hank was determined to make this as much of a surprise as he possibly could.

Even if their birthday plans were not quite solid. And included an active murder scene and a case to work. And possibly long hours stuck listening to Reed complain about his new rival in the precinct.

Fuck. He should’ve worked harder to get that time off.

Connor returns with Sumo, none the wiser to the ring Hank hides in his inner jacket pocket. Out of its box and wrapped in cloth so it’s less likely to be felt or seen as Connor leans in for a welcome home kiss. Hank indulges him, running his hands up Connor’s strong sides and under his square jaw, licking into his mouth, used to the bitter taste of his saliva by now and relishing in it. Connor is putty in his hands right up until Hank’s phone blares with its second morning alarm, urging them apart and into the car to properly start the say.

And yeah, it happens just like Hank predicted it would. Bloody crime scene, shady wife, mysterious mistress and whiny coworkers all wrapped up in a tight ten hours of overtime and impromptu grief counseling. Turns out the case wasn’t as much of a puzzle as Connor thought, and while it’s a run-of-the-mill he said she said with very little solid evidence to point and who did what, Connor unravels its knots and sends the proper case report in before the night shift comes to relieve them. 

Chris tags along and sets up dinner plans around seven, and while it only gives them an hour to go home and scrub off the case, Hank’s grateful people are still willing to celebrate Connor’s birthday so late in the evening. It also gives him a reason to dress nicer than usual, and the look on Connor’s face as Hank steps out in the nicest pair of slacks he owns and a lavender dress shirt that he hasn’t worn since the dawn of time is worth it.

“It’s just my birthday, Hank,” Connor laughs.

Hank snorts and pulls him closer for a hug. Connor folds against him neatly, dressed nice too, but only because his taste is more expensive anyway. He always looks like he’s ready to walk down a fashion runway, and Hank can’t begrudge him for it. It suits him.

“You deserve to look less like you’re chained to a hippy,” Hank teases. Connor just rolls his eyes and kisses him, a murmured  _ I love you _ passing between them.

“Besides,” Hank continues. “I do believe Chris just scored reservations at a pretty fancy restaurant.”

Connor raises a brow and visibly fights the urge to ask. Hank purposely doesn’t fill him in and smiles, as charming as he can muster even as a laugh threatens to bark up his throat.

“C’mon,” he says instead. “You wouldn’t want to miss out on your own birthday dinner, right?”

“Of course not,” Connor scoffs. He finishes dressing and follows Hank out to the car, his excitement growing and palpable as Hank drives closer and closer to inner Detroit. They don’t come here often - mostly because Connor doesn’t eat and Hank can’t find the justification to spend huge amounts of money on one meal - but the drive is nice in the slowly waning evening light, the tall skyscrapers of Detroit’s business center reflecting the orange and purple of hues of the sunset. 

Chris had picked out a relatively casual restaurant for the price he paid, a place called Julienne’s - a mix between French and Italian cuisine that Hank could probably stomach if they didn’t stick snails on his plate. They meet Chris, Naomi, little Damien, and Markus’ entourage outside, all dressed nicely, with Damien even fitted into a nice little dress shirt and jacket. 

“Don’t tell me how much you spent on reservations to this place,” Hank complains as they approach their party. 

Chris just smiles serenely. “Not a dime. Carl Manfred is really generous about this kind of stuff, y’know?”

Hank shifts his accusing glare to Markus. The android is grinning, pleased as pie, and wordlessly opens the door to allow them inside the restaurant.

Everyone starts to file in, but Hank hangs back to continue to glare.

Markus breaks the silence first. “Did you bring the ring?”

He knows. He knows they both know. Hank nods wordlessly, staring, and Markus’ grin gets even brighter.

“Good,” Markus says. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Hank snorts. “You’ll be lucky if you see the proposal at all.”

“I don’t doubt Connor will show me later,” Markus says brightly. He follows Hank inside, and when they cross the large open dining room to their table, he ignores the concerned look Connor gives him.

“Everything okay?” Connor asks quietly as Hank slides into the booth next to him. Simon, Dylan, Markus, and North all cram in behind him, while Naomi, Chris, Damien, and Josh sit on Connor’s other side, effectively blocking off Hank’s escape. Bracketed in on either side in their circle booth, there’s no way for Hank to back out now.

He fixes a soft smile on Connor and ignores the “aww” from Dylan as he leans in to kiss his cheek. Connor smiles serenely and returns the kiss, taking his wordless answer for what it is.

A waitress dressed in a black fitted blouse and pencil skirt floats by and takes their drink orders, unperturbed by the amount of androids at the table. She also offers a child’s menu for Chris and Naomi, which they accept gratefully, and order bread and salad as appetizers for the human half of their party while the android half is content with conversation. North is less than pleased to be here, but her and Hank get along surprisingly well, their rough personalities slotting together in an unlikely friendship that leaves the rest of the table laughing at their easy banter.

“I never thought I’d like the company of an old, fat human as much as yours,” North quips as Hank is taking a drink of his wine. “Makes me want to dump all the horrible memories of old guys like you paying to have a good time, but then I see that horrible gap between your teeth and forget about it.”

He snorts, and Chris nearly loses it for no other reason than because no one besides Gavin can get away with talking to Hank like that. Dylan shoots him an apologetic look and tries to get her girlfriend to  _ not  _ antagonize anyone for once, but Hank just smiles and tips his head to her in a toast.

“It’s all good,” he says. “As long as at the end of the day, you get finger blasted by someone you love. That might solve your problem for you.”

North colors, and Dylan bursts out laughing. Markus holds his face in his hands and Naomi tries desperately not to lose her cool as she hides her smile behind a hand and shaking shoulders. Damien giggles as well, though he likely doesn’t understand the gist of the conversation. Simon and Josh look on in silent contentment, and suddenly a feeling like  _ family  _ washes over Hank that he can’t quite squash down.

He never had siblings growing up, and his parents were so far removed from what Hank would consider loving and caring that he almost never considered to label them as his parents. He grew up as a latch-key kid, forever roaming from couch to couch and friend’s place to friend’s place, a drifter even as he tried to live up to peer pressure and complete school. He knew early on that he was poorer and less fortunate than most around him, and that feeling of  _ different _ morphed into unease as his situation barely bettered at the advent of androids. His only career options at that point had been police work or military - both promising steady income with little to no education, and that, to a kid with no future and no family to say no to otherwise, was all he had to hope for.

And sure, he had Jeffery and his wife, Namibia. He met them both in the Academy, and instantly they had become friends, their gruff personalities meshing much in the same way Hank’s and North’s do. But very little friendship had been found in college when he decided to go, and Hank had only gotten worse as his marriage soured.

But this? Surrounded by an odd conglomerate of humans and androids alike, the sound of laughter and easy banter between them all? Connor sitting happily by his side, very much  _ alive _ and solid and real? 

The ring his jacket pocket doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. Their food arrives, and while Hank chews through his pasta, he decides maybe now is better than never.

Markus and his group are entrenched in conversation with Naomi as she elaborates on her busy work schedule at the marketing firm she works for, Chris working by her side to get Damien to eat his small personal pizza. Connor is folding a piece of paper printed with the dessert menu beside him, his long fingers careful along the crisp seams of what looks like to be a paper crane. He’s so focused on what he’s doing that he doesn’t notice Hank shifting beside him despite being their sides being pressed comfortably together, sharing body warmth in this small, intimate space surrounded by friends.

Hank palms the ring as he feels Markus’ glare hot on the side of his head. Connor is still focused on his origami, finishing the last precise folds of the crane’s beak and tail. When he sets it between them triumphantly, turning his gentle smile on Hank, Hank slips the ring over the paper bird’s neck without prompting. 

Connor stills. The rest of the table does as well, Chris and Naomi in pleasant shock as the android half of their group looks on in a strange mix of amused finality.

He should have known they were all in on it. Dylan is even discreetly filming the whole thing with her phone, her smile huge and giddy.

Hank chances a glance at Markus. Markus smiles softly, nodding once. Hank turns back to Connor, nerves jumping up his throat as Connor just continues to stare.

Connor eventually unlocks all his body parts from each other and gently, almost as if in a trance, reaches out and takes the ring off the crane’s neck. He holds it in his palm like it’s a small baby animal in danger of breaking, and right as Hank is about to open his mouth to start ruining the moment with a half-formed excuse, Connor turns watery eyes on Hank.

“Do you really mean this?” Connor asks quietly. 

His LED blinks and those big, brown eyes stare so deeply in Hank’s soul that he feels pinned to the spot. He nods, words clogging his throat as he slips a hand over the nape of Connor’s neck and pulls him forward until their foreheads are resting against each other.

“I mean it, Connor,” he murmurs. “I may have been a shitty husband the first time around, but I think I’ll get it right the second time.”

Connor doesn’t say a word. He silently allows Hank to slip the ring over his finger, and yeah, it looks fuckin’ beautiful on his shapely hands. The gleam of the titanium flashes nicely against his skin, and the opals match perfectly with the shifting colors of his LED as his processors try desperately to keep up with his racing thoughts.

Mercifully, the rest of their group don’t clap or whoop their appreciation. Instead they return to their conversation, allowing Hank and Connor this bubble of privacy between them, letting their words be a shield from the rest of the restaurant. Hank finally finds the nerve to kiss Connor fully, melting into his soft lips and the almost strained sigh that escapes Connor as he shifts closer. He mentally kicks himself for not bringing the interface, but when they pull away, Connor’s watery smile is enough for him to know that he did something right.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Markus pays for dinner despite not partaking in the food, and as they file out onto the street, everyone takes turns congratulating Hank and Connor. Naomi practically vibrates with excitement, and when it’s her turn to give hugs, she caves and clings to Connor like she could crush him if she hugged him any tighter.

“Please let me help you plan!” she says excitedly. “I loved doing out wedding, and I want yours to be perfect.”

Connor wraps his arms around her shoulders and tries not to laugh. He glances to Hank, who just shrugs - honestly, Naomi helping would be a weight off him. He had been shit at planning his first one. 

“Okay,” Connor says. Naomi squeals and leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek, then bounces away, taking Damien from Chris so her husband could do his round of hugs.

“This is like Christmas for her,” Chris jokes. Hank snorts and shakes his hand, his grip firm. “Be prepared for lots of flowers. And an outside venue.”

“As long as it’s in spring,” Connor says. All eyes turn to him, and he just smiles. “The return of warmth and life. I guess I might have pre-planned a little of this.” He turns a more apologetic smile on Hank. “Sorry.”

Jesus, of course he had. Hanks feels like even more of an idiot for sitting on the ring for as long as he did. Connor deserved only the best life could offer, and here Hank was, squandering it all already.

But he doesn’t let his anxiety show and instead takes Connor’s hand. The ring slides pleasantly over his skin, and yeah, he could get used to this.

He really, really could.

 

——

 

Naomi and Connor end up agreeing on almost all suggested plans for the wedding. It’s already nearing the end of fall, and Hank sees no point in holding the wedding off more than what Connor wants, so they set the date for an early April ceremony. In the morning, so they have all day to dance and drink and celebrate before Hank whisks Connor away to a much needed vacation. 

They still work cases, though Hank doesn’t hide the engagement once Connor comes up with a ring a few weeks after Hank’s proposal. It’s a gold ring, similar to Connor’s, though instead of gemstones it just has a string of indecipherable ones and zeros encircling the outside of the band. Hank had been confused at first, but then Connor explained it was the first line of code that had been rewritten when Connor had broken the shackles on his AI. 

His first free thought. The first thing that inscribed itself in his processes forever when he turned deviant that cold, November night, miles away from comfort and months away from true person hood.

“Find Hank,” Connor had said when he held the ring out for Hank to inspect. “Not a directive anymore, or a bullet point in the grander scheme of Cyberlife’s fate for me. A genuine need to find you and tell you how much it meant to me that you helped me find the answer to my deviancy.”

Hank nearly cried. In a way, he did - he couldn’t stop the tears from tracking down his cheeks. This little string of code, thirteen ones and zeros laser traced into the metal of this tiny ring… it was Connor. Everything he was, and eventually would be.

He was determined to do things right this time around because of it. No way would he let Connor down, and if that meant letting the world know just how much he meant to him, then so be it.

Jeffrey is happy for him. Gavin is begrudgingly happy as well, though it’s overshadowed by how gross he thinks the whole thing is. Neither of them get separated at work, and that, more than anything, makes dealing with wedding plans and their growing caseload just a little easier. Hank couldn’t bear trying to work while he worried about Connor traipsing off with someone that didn’t know how much he meant to Hank. 

Connor eventually finds a venue - a place just outside Detroit surrounded by trees on two sides and open, rolling green fields on the other. It’s a farmhouse with a considerable open, flat field around it, the main proper of the building big enough to house their admittedly hefty guest list should the weather decide not to hold up. A grand weeping willow sits in the lawn several hundred yards away from the farmhouse, pink with blossoms as spring starts to approach. It’s perfect, and Hank can already envision the rows of chairs out on the lawn in front of it and the ensuing party as Connor describes what he wants.

The bright light in Connor’s eyes is even better when he starts to detail the little things. The colors he had in mind (white and blue), the flowers he and Naomi had agreed on (Japanese morning glories), the list of their guests and the cake he couldn’t eat but was most excited about because they found an android-run bakery that was more than happy to provide for one of the first android-human weddings. And when Connor calms down from his high of napkin picking and gift ordering, Hank pulls him against him, their bodies slotting together, and describes in excruciating detail just how slowly he will take Connor apart the night of their wedding.

Not literally, of course. But with his hands nonetheless, with gentle caresses and a warm, wet mouth. Connor melts under the attention, going boneless against the sheets where they’d been lounging discussing wedding plans. They’ve never gone this slow before, but Hank takes his time, letting the arousal sitting low in his gut simmer as he works Connor apart.

And come apart Connor does. He isn’t loud during sex, his breath quiet as he whines Hank’s name and writhes against him seeking attention. Hank freely gives it, slipping lower beneath the blankets to slip Connor’s length between his lips.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Connor breathes. His fingers curl almost too tight in Hank’s hair, his hips canting up to meet Hank’s mouth as he swallows him down. Hank presses the flat of one palm over the android’s taunt stomach to keep him from moving and shifts his thighs over his shoulders with the other, bobbing up and down on Connor’s cock, his slick length tasting like nothing except the slight chemical tang of his precum.

Connor obeys his hands and doesn’t thrust up to meet his mouth. The muscles in his legs tighten with the effort, and when Hank slips two fingers inside him to work him open, it takes all of the android’s strength not to bodily jerk away. Hank can feel it under his hand on Connor’s stomach, can feel the desperate twist of his fingers in his hair and the clench of his asshole around Hank’s fingers.

But he doesn’t stop. He lets that energy build between them, sucks Connor down and rolls his tongue over the uncut length of him. Connor shivers, his whines becoming more insistent, his breath coming to him in shorter and shorter pants. Hank can feel his orgasm mounting in the way Connor’s body starts to still, seeking release as Hank finally digs against the spot inside him that blows his pleasure out of proportion. Hank pulls away before he can come, ignoring the stiff moan that escapes Connor’s wrecked throat.

He kisses up the stiff patch of brown hair above Connor’s cock, up and up past his navel and the line of his abs. He kisses each mole he finds on the way, a scattered path that leaves Connor giggling breathlessly as he roams his sides and his beard tickles his skin. He still works his fingers inside Connor, but he relents against his artificial prostate, instead opting to just feel him out, enjoying the slick slide of his walls around him as Connor enjoys being filled. 

Hank gets up to the cluster of freckles dusting Connor’s collarbone before the android finds the strength to speak.

“Can you wear the interface?” Connor asks timidly. “Just - I want to feel… everything.”

Hank sucks a wet kiss into the dip between Connor’s collarbones. “Yeah. Of course, baby.”

Connor lets him out of the cocoon of blankets to slip on the interface before being enveloped back inside. Their palms slide together, Connor’s skin melting away midway up his arm before the connection between them sputters to life.

The flood of Connor’s systems invading Hank’s mind space is always as breathless and overwhelming as the first time they had interfaced. He suddenly has several other senses that he can hardly make heads or tails of - he knows the precise distance between himself and the door to the bedroom, he can hear Sumo snoring in the living room and the slow  _ thmp-thump  _ of his heart beating. The weight of his own body on top of Connor’s is a comfortable one as well, and when he shifts to disappear back down the covers, his mouth trailing hot kisses down Connor’s chest, he feels the quiet hum of processors kicking into high gear behind his ribs.

Connor lets himself be teased as Hank returns to kissing down the sensitive skin across his hips. It’s hard to do a lot of foreplay with only one hand, but Hank manages by never really stopping in any one place with his mouth. He licks up the side of Connor’s rib cage to one nipple, laving across it before kissing back up to Connor’s jaw.

The android under him shivers, but he can feel it deeper than just a body moving against his own. His vision shudders unnaturally and something inside him seizes as Hank’s fingers venture back down to slip back across his hole.

He realizes this is  _ Connor’s  _ vision screwing up and he smiles as traces of his HUD start to glitch across in blue strings of letter commands. 

“I thought you fixed the jittery vision,” Hank teases. 

Connor seems to correct the problem and his HUD resolves into clarity before disappearing completely. “I did,” he laughs. “But I guess my systems just… respond this way.”

Hank retracts his hand, the interface connection severing. “Is it the interface? Is it me?”

Connor shakes his head and presses their hands back together. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. I promise I’m alright, it’s just interference from your end.”

Hank huffs, but doesn’t fight the connection as it floods back through his arm. Connor kisses him, arching his hips up in a teasing roll that drags his dick across Hank’s shirt. He really doesn’t know when Connor started lounging in bed naked, but he’s glad he did, because it makes all of this so much easier.

He ends up turning Connor on his side with their hands twined together in front of him as Hank slides inside him from behind. It’s a comfortable position, and it only requires the use of one hand to prop Connor’s other leg open as Hank thrusts. Connor lets the interface between them open completely, their shared experience feeding back between them in an endless loop that leaves Hank breathless. Connor fairs worse, his systems hyper focusing on the rings on their hands clicking together as Hank pushes up inside him.

Connor shakes apart with a soft cry as Hank tries not to lose his rhythm as his own orgasm mounts tightly in his stomach. But the feeling of too much, too hot, too full overwhelms him from Connor’s end, and he ends up coming shortly after, their hands still intertwined and bodies still pressed together in a hot, sweaty line.

Neither of them care, and after a cursory sweep with one of Hank’s shirts to make sure they’re at least relatively clean. Hank tucks them both into bed. Keeping their hands together as the interface pulses alive between them is difficult to manage, but they make it work as exhaustion starts to overcome Hank, flooding back into Connor’s systems and nearly tugging him towards stasis.

Hank kisses Connor’s shoulder and hugs him tighter to his chest. “You’re gonna be a beautiful groom,” he mumbles, the words escaping him before his brain can stop them.

Contentment and excitement thrum through the interface. “I can’t wait for it to happen. I have a timer to count the days.”

He does - Hank can barely see it in the corner of his vision, counting down the weeks, days, hours, and seconds to their wedding day. Leave it to Connor to have such a frivolous timer on his HUD where the space could be occupied by something more important.

“You’re so fuckin’ -“ Hank snorts and shakes his head.  _ Cute,  _ he wants to say.  _ So much more than I deserve,  _ he doesn’t say.

Connor twists in his arms as much as he can without interrupting their connection, his expression hard and just a little annoyed. Fuck, he forgot about the interface.

“You’re worthy of good things, Hank,” Connor chides. He twists fully around, their interface severing. He cups his hands over Hank’s jaw and smoothes his thumbs over the bags under Hank’s eyes, his expression gentle. “ _ You  _ deserve to have things you want. I know this is hard to see, but I think this…  _ all  _ of this… I think this is just what you need.”

Hank huffs but smiles. “I need a wedding with androids making up half the guest list and Jeffrey fuckin’ Fowler as my best man?”

Connor smiles - rare smile that’s all teeth. “You need a wedding with androids making up half the guest list, Jeffrey Fowler as your best man, and arguably the happiest android as your husband-to-be.”

He can’t argue with that. He turns off the lights and wraps Connor up against him under the blankets, content with his heavy weight against him and the feeling of his ring pressed into his skin where Connor embraces him. Not unlike Connor’s systems before, he focuses on that one point right until he drops off, his body buzzing with excited energy at the thought that Connor would finally be  _ his. _

 

——

 

They have no real reservations about keeping secrets from each other, so when it comes time to pick out suits for themselves and the men and women that will be in the procession, they go together like they’ve done with everything else.

Fowler is Hank’s best man, and Markus is Connor’s. Naomi is the flower girl, though she’s allowed to wear whatever she likes as long as it’s formal and fits the colors Connor wants. She bounces off to pick out a dress with Fowler’s wife, North, and Dylan, little Damien bouncing between the four of them as they all take turns holding his hand.

Chris, Fowler, Markus, Simon, and Josh split off with Hank and Connor, heading to the first of men’s wedding boutiques on their list of many here in Detroit. Connor is vibrating with excitement, and Hank has to admit it’s contagious - even Fowler is smiling.

“I never thought you would get married again,” Fowler says as they walk down the relatively empty sidewalk. It’s early mid-morning on a weekday, so Hank supposes many people wouldn’t be out shopping this time. He pretends to be annoyed at Fowler’s question, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching Connor talk with Chris and Markus ahead of them.

“So is the “getting married to an android” part not as shocking?” Hank says.

Fowler shrugs. “I don’t know. You hated them for a while, but I think deep down you didn’t. A lot of us didn’t. We were just… more stubborn about it.”

Hank snorts. “Stubborn suits us both.”

“Stubborn didn’t get you to where you are, smartass.”

He can concede that. He shrugs one shoulder and smiles back at Connor as he twists around to face him. The android has been nervous lately, excited but anxious to get the finalizing details finished for the big day. Really, this was the last thing - the venue had been paid for by Carl, and the caterer and cake had been pooled together from the precinct. The rest was out of pocket that Hank and Connor could easily shell out with their combined income, even if it meant the little vacation Hank had planned after for their honeymoon would be a little closer to home than he thought.

Just a cabin north of Detroit in the woods, secluded away from the noise of the city but with all modern amenities. They hadn’t even been opposed to housing an android for the week, and had made the necessary accommodations for Connor’s much heftier network connection so theirs didn’t crash when he tried to log on. Connor, so far, was oblivious, and Hank wanted to keep it that way so there’s at least some surprise for their wedding.

But other than that… everything was finished. Half their guests didn’t eat, and all of them were happy with hanging out and listening to music while dancing or talking, so Hank didn’t even feel bad for not hiring more extravagant entertainment. He realizes belatedly that all these people are his  _ friends,  _ close enough to see his true feelings for Connor without causing that little voice of panic in Hank’s brain to crank into overdrive.

An air of finality overcomes him at the thought. His first wedding hadn’t been small by any means, but this was so much more different.  _ Intimate.  _ He loved Connor so much that they could have gone and gotten married in the cheapest chapel they could find and he would be happy because this was Connor. 

This was for him. For the android that was built to hunt and exterminate deviants and still had the wherewithal to break through his programming and become the person that had been lurking under its surface. This was for Connor. This was for them both.

Even though they have an appointment, the fitter at the first boutique is still a little shocked when four androids and three humans come strolling in. He’s and older man - older than Hank and Fowler - and his knobby hands wring together as he smiles and steps away from where he’d been tapping on a tablet at the front desk.

“Hello, you must be the Anderson appointment,” he says breezily. He glances between all of them, finally settling his stare on Markus and his group - the youngest, human-looking members of their group - and smiles. “Are you the lucky groom?”

Markus smiles tightly and shakes his head. “No, but I am a lucky guy,” he teases. Simon colors beside him, but says nothing as Markus gestures to Hank and Connor. “These two are the lucky grooms. I’m just one of the best men.”

“I’m the other one,” Fowler says. He and Hank share a huff of laughter, earning smiles from the rest of their group.

Their fitter smiles as well, though a bit tightly. His eyes never truly leave the LED at Connor’s temple as he takes in each person before stepping back.

“Sure, of course,” he says. He takes another step back, then gestures behind him. “The fitting room is this way. Do we have an idea on color selection?”

Hank doesn’t like this guy. Connor squeezes his hand and takes the first step to following their fitter, answering his questions and explaining what he wants. Hank and the rest of the group follow, chiming in from time to time as their tastes vary.

Connor wants something slim fitting like the rest of his suits, his preferences predictable but cute. Hank is alright with anything as long as it compliments Connor, and Fowler and Markus want to match so their status as best men is apparent. Simon and Josh want to match as well, though Josh wants a vest and Simon is fine with or without one. Chris picks out something with embroidered flowers along the sleeves so that he and Naomi will match when it comes time to stand next to each other on Connor’s side of the procession. All of their suits will be white with blue accents, so the fitter takes their measurements and writes some notes into a tablet and then disappears to find the first batch to try on.

“I don’t trust him,” Markus says lowly once their fitter is out of earshot. “He didn’t even introduce himself.”

“Robert Ward, sixty-three, married but in the process of divorce,” Connor says. “Likely due to differing opinions on androids, though that’s all I could glean from his attitude and lack of a ring on his finger.”

Hank snorts and Fowler turns an incredulous look on him. 

“You used the database for that?” Fowler asks.

Connor shrinks under his stare. “He had four DUI’s and a warrant for his arrest when he was thirty. I apologize, Captain.”

Fowler just laughs. “That’s great! God, nothing escapes you. Hank must hate it.”

“Hank enjoys my attentiveness,” Connor counters, his timid grin turning into a predatory smile. Hank sputters and Markus and Chris burst out laughing, while Simon and Josh pretend to melt into the carpet as Fowler just shakes his head. Connor leans forwards and pecks Hank on the cheek as their friends quiet down and Robert returns with their suits.

Despite his apparent hangups with androids, Robert pretty much nails everyone’s tastes the first time around. Connor is picky, and tries on three suits before he’s satisfied with choosing the second one - a simple cut with a vest and tie that’s really not unlike what he already wears to work. Hank matches him, though his jacket has tails where Connor’s doesn’t. Josh and Simon are happy with simple three pieces as well, and Markus and Fowler decide to match Connor and Hank with their jacket cuts. Their fitter is more than happy to accept full payment from Markus’ generous debit card, and assures them all that final editing of each suite will be finished before the wedding in three weeks. 

He’s also more than happy to kick them out the door even though they still have another hour on their appointment, so Hank steers the group to the nearest coffee shop to wait for the women. Markus wrestles Connor into a game of chess at one of the tables in the cafe - which turns into a tournament match between all four androids that Hank isn’t sure will produce a winner. Markus is fast and dirty from learning from Carl, and Connor has his preconstruction processors that give him an edge. Josh and Simon learn from them both and somehow end up beating them, and in the end it’s Simon that emerges triumphant after tricking Josh into leaving his King exposed at the back of the board.

“That was cruel,” Hank comments as they clean the board and set it up again.

Simon just smiles in that dopey way of his. “I’m unassuming. Maybe that was the cruel part.”

“Can I play?” Chris says. “That was crazy.”

Simon gestures to the other side of the table and Chris takes his place. He is swiftly defeated, but he takes it all in good stride and sets up the board to try again. Midway through his second pummeling, the women find them and file in, all smiles.

“I really hope you like what we chose,” Naomi says. Connor shifts closer as she pulls out her phone and starts to swipe through the photos she took of their dresses. By Connor’s soft smile and the way he won’t stop nodding, they chose well.

“They’re perfect,” he says. “You’re all really beautiful.”

Naomi hugs him around his shoulders and North pretends not to like the compliment. Naomi passes the phone to Hank for him to look, and yeah, he agrees. They all chose long skirted dresses, Naomi with a cut up the leg and flower embroidery to match Chris on the sleeves, Dylan in a plain white dress without sleeves that accentuated her curves well, Namibia’s with long sleeves and a high collar, and North in something similar but with a flare of fabric around the wrists that slowly faded into blue as it tightened up her biceps. They were much more individual than the men were, but then again, the men only had so many options.

He hands the phone back with a smile. He really can’t find the words, not now that the final stages of the planning are complete. He feels his stomach sink and his entire body go loose, like he isn’t even inside it anymore. It’s an odd, dissociative feeling that leaves him feeling nearly sick up until he somehow gets himself and Connor home.

Connor hugs him from behind once the door is closed, pressing his face between his shoulder blades. Even through his jacket Hank can feel the smile on Connor’s cheeks.

“Three weeks,” he says quietly. Hank covers his hands over his belly with his own, bringing them up to kiss his long fingers.

“Three weeks,” he repeats. Three weeks. It feels almost like a dream, but when he turns around to kiss Connor, he feels very, very real. 

 

——

 

Those three weeks pass in a blur. 

Work comes and goes, their cases no more difficult than before. Hank suspects Jeffrey is cutting them some slack with their wedding so close, but when he checks what Ben and Gavin are up to, they’re on nothing too bad either. Hank chalks it up to Detroit’s citizens taking a break from maiming each other and lets it be in favor of coasting for a while so their big day feels a bit less stressful.

The day before, Connor undergoes maintenance that leaves him under stasis for a good three hours. It’s nothing huge - just a replacement of old parts that are nearing on three years old now - but it still leaves Hank in tailspin for what to do. They’ve been glued to each other practically since the revolution, and to have Connor gone for any long stretch of time is like living with a phantom limb. But he pops back into the precinct without much preamble and a big smile on his face, feeling much better than when he went in. Later that night, he opens his casing and shows Hank the three shiny new processors and new thirium pump that were installed, as well as the much sleeker and streamlined thirium vascular web encircling his rib cage.

Other then that, the rest of the night passes peacefully. Connor is a nervous ball of energy and can hardly fall into stasis, so Hank ends up with him plastered to his side as he rambles through his million mile an hour thoughts before it finally seems to do the trick and he drops off. Hank snorts, running his hands through Connor’s short cropped hair, and ends up falling asleep from mere nerves before his body can decide throwing up is the better option.

And then they’re separated again. Chris and Markus come to pick up Connor, and while Hank is arranged a babysitter for Sumo, Hank is whisked away with Fowler. 

“It’s not like this is a traditional wedding,” Hank complains. He shifts in the seat of Fowler’s car, trying really hard not to fidget. This must be what Connor feels like all the goddamn time. “We didn’t even have a bachelor party.”

“Yeah, well, some things have to stay traditional,” Fowler gripes back. “Besides, you think Connor wouldn’t just want to get it over with right there at home? The kid is practically vibrating with excitement.”

Connor is, though Hank’s sure he would wait for the actual ceremony. A lot of planning went into this, and Hank wasn’t about to let it be squandered.

“Just don’t let me walk up there with anything on my face,” Hank says.

Fowler nods with a smile. “Of course not. Not like last time, at least.”

Hank socks him in the arm and Fowler nearly swerves to avoid it. They get to Fowler’s house and he retaliates by locking Hank in the car each time he tries to get out, laughing like they did when they were in the Academy and thought the world was laid out at their feet.

Namibia looks much prettier in her dress in person, and so do the other women as they start to show up to get dressed. Apparently, Fowler’s house was for the girls and Chris’ house is for the boys, and while Hank and Connor had been separated to make seeing each other a surprise, Markus sneaks him a picture of Connor without anyone noticing.

Connor does, though, and he’s smiling at the camera so softly that Hank knows he took the photo for his sake. He’s leaning against the counter in Chris’ kitchen, hands in his pockets, the crisp lines of his suit accentuating his curves well. His shoulders are broad in the jacket and his legs are impossibly long, but that smile and soft expression on Hank’s face is what gives him the strength to finally get dressed and face the reality of what they’re doing.

He’s avoided it pretty well up until now, though, so his body nearly revolts when he acknowledges the ring on his finger for what it is. He’s getting married. He’s getting married  _ today.  _ To an android. At fifty-fuckin’-four years old.

The ring isn’t so heavy on his hand anymore. He slips into his jacket and shoes and goes out to face the fawning of his friends around him, and not once does he think that maybe he doesn’t deserve this.

They all pile into Fowler and Markus’ cars to be driven to the venue, caravaning over as they finally meet up with Chris and Naomi’s cars. But they still keep Hank and Connor separated, letting them into the farmhouse out of view from each other and then herding them into completely opposite sides of the house. Because the wedding is still somewhat traditional (and Hank really wanted to make this more about Connor than himself), he assumes the masculine roles and approaches the front of the audience already seated outside with his side of the procession behind him. Fowler is his best man, bearing Connor’s ring in his pocket, and Ben and Gavin stand behind him, looking sharp in their suits and Gavin without a sour look on his face, surprisingly.

Hank recognizes almost every single face in front of him as he stands with his back to one of the only ministers in Detroit that would obey the android marriage law. Naomi and Chris’ extend family sits on the left side, taking up nearly all five of the rows of seats as they chatter excitedly with each other. Some other work friends sit with them, Wilson and a couple techs that routinely work on Connor bringing up the back with smiles on their faces. On the other side is almost exclusively androids, Markus and the core Jericho group absent while others, like the two Traci androids from way back when, sit talking amongst themselves quietly. 

It’s almost surreal, standing here doing this again. But the slight breeze is cool on his cheeks and there’s birds singing in the trees nearby, and while there is the promise of food and dancing soon after the main ceremony, everyone seems just as excited to be here as Hank feels. The photographer they hired sits off to the side, still for now as she waits for Connor’s end of the ceremony to start, but ready nonetheless. When the music starts and people hush and turn around to find Connor as he emerges from the farmhouse, Hank thinks  _ finally. _

Months and months of planning finally coming together. Months and months of waiting and thinking maybe this isn’t supposed to happen for him. Months and months and now he gets to finally see Connor walk down the aisle with the goofiest smile on his face as his LED switches from yellow to blue frantically, beautiful and nervous and everything Hank wants him to be because this is  _ Connor. _

Naomi precedes him, dropping flowers from a white basket as she floats across the grass in her well-fitted dress. Markus walks directly behind him, Chris, Simon, Josh, North, and Dylan proceeding in a line after him. Hank isn’t upset that Connor’s procession has more people - in fact, he’s happier for it - and when they’re all lined up on Connor’s side and Con or steps up to take Hank’s hand, he finally, finally feels at ease.

“You look handsome,” Connor says quietly. His LED is still shifting, confused and unsure of which color to land on. Hank isn’t supposed to but he kisses Connor’s hands, soothing the anxiety he knows is warring in Connor’s stupidly expensive brain.

“You’re handsome, too,” Hank says. That seems to calm his partner, and when he finally relaxes, the minister begins.

It’s the same old spiel, edited slightly to fit their situation since Connor won’t actually die in the traditional sense. A morbid thing to think about at a wedding, but it suits them both, and it doesn’t matter much when they’re asked to exchange rings. Markus and Fowler present them, and Hank slips the ring over Connor’s finger a second time, though it’s no less special than before. Connor does the same, and when they’re finished, they take each other’s hands and squeeze tight.

“Is there anything you would like to say to each other? Any vows?” the minister asks quietly.

Hank hadn’t really prepared any. He’s learned that flying off the cuff more or less suits them both, so he just nods and starts.

“I don’t have a lot to say,” Hank begins, loud enough for their friends to hear. “I guess I kind of never have enough to say. But you mean so much to me, Connor, more than just a ring on my finger. You dug me out of the pit I doomed myself to and I can’t thank you enough for all the nights you took my gun and booze away. I just… really can’t thank you enough.”

Connor nods. He looks like he’s about to cry, but he fights it down and manages to school his expression before speaking.

“I think I was deviant from the beginning, but I didn’t really learn the meaning of that until I met you,” Connor says, his voice cracking. “My shackled programming prevented a lot of stray thoughts and directives, but I knew for some reason I wanted to be near you. I tried so hard to protect you and when Markus finally asked the question I was too afraid to ask, I knew what the answer was because of you. You showed me what it’s like to be alive, and I’m grateful you’re helping me grow as a person as well as a detective. I couldn’t ask for more in a partner than what I already find in you.”

Hank doesn’t realize he’s crying until Connor reaches up to wipe the stray tears from his face. Hank fights the urge to scrub his face with his sleeve and lets Connor take care of him as the minister announced the rest of the vows and lets them kiss. 

It’s chaste, and warm, and everything Hank wanted it to be. Naomi tosses the rest of her flowers over them, showering them in white and blue petals that stick in their hair. Connor smiles against his lips and doesn’t break away until people start cheering and clapping.

“I love you,” Connor murmurs.

Hank smiles and kisses him again. “I love you, too,” he says, his heart warm and light. For the first time in a long time, he feels completely at ease.

They lead the way back towards the farmhouse for the party, their hands intertwined. The food is inside, protected from the insects and the breeze, but the dancing is outside on the lawn, so they cut the cake first - a three tiered monster of white fondant and little blue pearls lining the edge of each consecutive tier - and let people mingle with each other as they eat. Connor sits diligently next to him as Hank tried to swallow down the sugary mess of cake in front of him, though he gets momentarily distracted by Hank’s right hand.

Hank tugs it away, his heart rate no doubt noticeably picking up. He had another surprise in mind for Connor, but he didn’t want to reveal it just yet.

Connor looks at him strangely, quirking a brow as a confused smile spreads on his face. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Hank says. They both know full well it’s not nothing. “I’ll show you when we dance. How about that?”

Connor looks at his hand, LED blinking. “Alright.”

Fuck. He knows. Hank doesn’t let him hold his right hand for the rest of the dinner, even moving to switch sides with him so he doesn’t accidentally let Connor slip his palm against his own. When he finishes his food and makes the rounds to greet their friends, another hour passes before Markus practically kicks them out the door to start dancing.

The others follow them out, though they stick to the sidelines of the plastic dance floor that had been brought out while they ate. Hank and Connor continue out onto it, and while Hank hasn’t danced in a long time, he prides himself on his ability to remember at least the basics. His hands on Connor’s slim waist, his feet leading Connor’s back and forth in a slow sway that is in no way complicated. A slow dance, meant for intimacy rather than showing off their moves even as a couple dozen eyes follow them across the dance floor. Hank ignores them as he slips one of Connor’s hands off his shoulders and into his right hand.

Connor, who had been content to just sway together with his head resting on Hank’s shoulder, straightens with that weird look on his face again. 

Hank wiggles his fingers against Connor’s and intertwines them. “Go ahead,” he says quietly. “Try and interface.”

Connor frowns. He looks Hank up and down, still swaying with him as the song nears its end. Then his skin over his left hand retracts, sliding away up his sleeve to reveal the white of his chassis. Hank waits, unsure of what he will feel when the connection opens, but keeps his expression amused for Connor’s sake.

Unlike the interface Hank wore on his hand and face, the sensor in his hand and temple pick up on Connor’s data frequency almost instantly. The flood of information is much more controlled now, streamlined in a way that’s meant to be a probe against Hank’s own thoughts as Connor prods him curiously. His eyes widen when Hank smiles and thinks just as hard right back at him, more than amused now that he’s caught Connor off guard.

_ Is it working?  _ he says. Connor flinches, nearly dislodging their hands from each other. He recovers quickly so as not to alarm their guests as they join them on the next song, but he keeps staring, his expression incredulous.

_ You went and got an actual interface,  _ Connor says back. His voice is clear, like he was speaking right in Hank’s ear.  _ Hank, this is expensive. How? _

Hank shrugs. He can feel Connor’s body as if it was his own, his vision framed in neat lines of system diagnostics and idle scans Connor runs in the background of his programming. He can see his own heart rate helpfully labelled “Hank” in the bottom left corner, right above Connor’s quicker heartbeat. Connor’s senses come through this interface so much clearer than before that it’s almost overwhelming, hearing things he shouldn’t be able to hear and knowing things he would have to manually measure or observe that Connor just  _ knows  _ without blinking an eye. He knows the precise distance between their bodies and those of Chris and Naomi drift by; he knows when the song that’s playing was produced and the year it came out along with the band’s names and complete discography. Connor is somehow also keeping tabs on their guests, their locations and heart rates around him without even turning around.

He wonders how blind Connor must feel now that he and Hank are better connected, and before he can voice the thought, Connor laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s not so bad,” he says out loud. He kisses Hank’s cheek, resuming his position with his head on Hank’s shoulder.  _ It’s nice, in a weird way, not feeling so much. I can re tune my systems so it isn’t so overwhelming for you. _

Hank shakes his head.  _ No. Just weird, is all. I’m in your head, Connor. _

Connor’s system readjust so his vision isn’t as cluttered. Their heartbeat monitors are still there, but the faint blue silhouettes of the others aren’t there anymore, and all background processes have stopped. Hank makes a displeased that Connor hushes with a soothing press of their consciousnesses together.

_ It’s alright,  _ he says.  _ I just want to feel you for a bit. I can’t believe you did this. _

He isn’t sure how memory transfer works, but he tries hard to recall the moment he decided to get the implant. It had been after they bought suits, a whim that Markus decided to indulge. The sensor in his hand was a re-purposed one from an android nervous system, designed to decode the sympathetic memory data along with real-time interfacing. Powered by Connor’s internal electric frequency, all he needed was the secondary sympathetic sensor in his temple to help his brain understand Connor’s constant stream of data. It was weird at first - the surgery itself was quick and relatively painless - but knowing something so small could interpret a being as huge as Connor had been daunting.

Connor is awed on the other end of their interface, shocked quiet and nearly still. He explores the memory, storing it in his own memory banks and rewinding it every now and then. It’s a weird feeling that Connor helps him work through by showing Hank his own petabytes of memories to sift through.

It’s almost too intimate to touch them, so Hank doesn’t even as Connor encourages him to. This is what makes Connor who he is, and Hank refused to meddle with them. He does glance through the files, smiling as he approaches folders just labelled HANK and SUMO along with the rest of their friends. He lets them be after that, retreating to a more shallow connection as Connor drifts.

The interface, while deep and more clear, is tiring for them both. They disconnect after several minutes and sit down to rest. Connor is significantly more tired than before, sluggish and barely able to keep up a conversation. Hank is worried until Connor assures him it’s just a huge system adjustment for him to keep up the interface, and he’s drained from everything else. Emotionally, he means, and while he doesn’t say it, Hank understands.

The party peters out naturally. Damien gets fussy, so Chris and Naomi bow out first. Fowler helps them clean up even though the caterers say they can handle it, picking up chairs and trash as they circle the yard. Eventually, the caterers kick them out, saying it’s their wedding so they shouldn’t have to do anything. Fowler piles he rest of their group into his car and Markus’ and drives them home, everyone wishing them a good night, a wonderful good luck, and a hopeful honeymoon.

“Fuck, I forgot about that,” Hank groans as he collapses into bed. Connor laughs as he returns from letting out Sumo, crawling next to him and curling up into a ball.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Hank turns his head and watches as Connor’s skin disappears over his hand. He reaches out to meet the connection and is nearly overwhelmed with the gratitude Connor feels. 

He pushes his own through the connection and smiles as Connor burrows into his side.  _ You’re welcome.  _

Amusement colors their connection.  _ Hi, Hank. _

Hank snorts. Yeah, maybe this is a new awakening. For them both now, not just Connor.

Be kisses the brown curls underneath his chin and wraps Connor up against him.  _ Hi, Connor. It’s nice to meet you. _

_ It’s nice to meet you, too. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize that some italics in this are missing. im not home and im uploading this from mobile, so ill be able to fix some of the formatting later!
> 
> but here we are! the honeymoon. by popular demand, as well! i hope you all enjoy, and i hope this tides you over until i polish off my next fic <3 i love you all! thank you for reading!

“Hank.”

“Connor.”

“Hank, there’s people here.”

Hank tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Through the light mist of rain coating the windshield, he can see two other cars parked in the large driveway in front of what should have been their getaway cabin. A red SUV and a white sedan sit parked one after the other, and on the raised covered deck of the large cabin, a laughing group of four people congregate around morning cups of coffee.

Worse yet, it was the cabin he rented. Number twelve, plain as day in brass numbers on the porch post.

Connor shifts uneasily in his seat. “We can go somewhere else. An upscale hotel in Detroit, or -“

“I already paid for the damn cabin,” Hank grumbles. “I guess I didn’t fuckin’ see it was communal.”

And it fuckin’ hadn’t been on the website. There were other cabins in the area, all strewn at equal intervals along the edge of the lake they surround, hidden from each other by a curtain of trees, giving each privacy and a slice of the lake’s semi-sandy beach. Secluded, away from the noise of the city, and private enough that if (when) either of them got frisky, it wouldn’t come with the price of possible public nudity.

Well. Unless Sumo counted. As it is, their idiot dog just pants in the back seat, unaware of the conundrum his owners find themselves in.

Hank frowns harder. Rain starts to patter against the car in a steady, heavy drumbeat, and Hank sighs.

“I’ll talk to the lake manager,” he says. “For now, let’s just stretch our legs and let Sumo wander around. Hopefully these people will let us use their phone.”

Because while Connor still maintains satellite connection, their phones don’t. They lost signal hours ago after they hit the mountains, and while it sounded nice to be disconnected from the world (at least in Hank’s case) for a solid week, possibly being stuck in a communal cabin with strangers while this was supposed to be their honeymoon didn’t sound like a good idea when Hank couldn’t call to complain about it. Turning round and heading back was sounding like a better and better idea by the second.

But against his better judgement, his foot pushes the gas pedal and his hands maneuver the cruiser into the available space in the cabin’s gravel-paved driveway next to the red SUV. Connor gets out without a word, freeing Sumo from the back seat, and while Hank’s gut is sinking with guilt, Connor smiles at him over the roof of the car.

“It’s alright,” Connor says softly. His grin turns mischievous. “I can probably keep quiet tonight.”

Jesus. They haven’t even been officially married for more than two days. Hank feels a blush rush up his cheeks and he barely manages to grumble out a reply through his embarrassment.

“You better watch it or you’re not getting any for the entire week,” he hisses.

Connor doesn’t react, that stupid grin still on his face. “I think it’s you that will struggle with not getting any this week, Lieutenant.”

Hank sputters and Connor ignores him by hefting out their day bag from the trunk. It has little more than a change of clothes for them both and some snacks for Hank, but it’s enough to get them through the afternoon without lugging out their luggage. A silly idea when they were packing, but when Hank glances up at the deck of the cabin searching for their apparent cabin-mates, it seems like a smart one now.

Said cabin-mates are now leaning over the wooden railing of the deck, smiling and waving. Two of them are older - a man and a woman, age lines creasing their faces and sunglasses over their eyes despite the grey weather - and two younger, also a boy and girl, the resemblance between the two of them and the adults striking enough that Hank assumes they’re a family.

“Hey there!” the man says, waving. Hank manages a weak wave back and weaves between the cars after locking the cruiser and stomps up the wooden stairs to the deck. They don’t creak, leaving Hank unsatisfied in his cranky mood. “Are you guys our housemates?”

So this was a shared cabin. Hank makes it to the deck and looks around - cushy patio furniture upholstered in muted greens and browns scattered across the dark wooden deck, two glass tables surrounded by four chairs each, and a metal standing fire pit in the center, glowing with embers peeking through a heavy pile of grey ashes. Hank hears Connor and Sumo follow him up the stairs and finally meets the eyes of the smiling dad across from him.

“Sorry, we didn’t realize this was duplex when we booked it,” Hank says. He gestures between himself and Connor, vaguely able to keep the look of annoyance off his face. “I’m Hank. This is Connor, and our dog, Sumo.”

Sumo wiggles between the two young kids, soaking up their love and attention. They can’t be over fifteen years old, and while hesitant, their mother lets them pet Sumo without reprimanding them. She points to each of them, introducing them from left to right.

“This is my husband, Jared, and our children, Hannah and Patrick. I’m Ruth,” she says. Jared holds out his hand - Hank shakes it once, firm. Surprisingly, Jared also shakes Connor’s hand, apparently unperturbed by Connor obviously being an android.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Connor says pleasantly.

“Likewise,” Jared says. “We were wondering if you were ever going to show.”

This is - weird. They seem like nice people, but Hank’s gut is twisting in all the wrong ways. He turns to Connor, reaching out with his right hand, and while Connor’s interfacing isn’t very discreet, the family across from them is distracted enough from Sumo to not notice.

I’m not the only one getting weird vibes, right? Hank says.

He can feel the unease in Connor’s systems and the constant scans he’s throwing across the patio at the family of four. They’re coming up inconclusive, but Connor still feels wrong.

I can fake needing to pick up a charger from the office, Connor offers. They have spares from when this place owned androids to keep up maintenance on the cabins.

Hank nods and pulls his hand away, severing the connection. He calls Sumo to heel, pleased he listens for once, and tries to make his smile as unassuming as possible as he steps back towards the stairs Connor is already skipping down.

“We gotta go check in with the front office,” Hank offers. “Before settling in. Don’t hold up for us - we want to enjoy the scenery.”

Jared and Ruth look confused, but their kids are unperturbed. Hank escapes before they can say anything and slams the car door after himself and throws the cruiser in reverse before he’s belted in. The gravel crunches under the car’s tires, the rain patters loudly against the windshield, and before Hank can think twice about possibly kicking rocks up onto the family’s cars in the driveway, he’s racing down the road, following the signs to the main office.

“Why did they have two cars?” Connor wonders aloud. Sumo pants between them, his big head stuck through the plexiglass window separating the front of the car from the back. “Their kids aren’t old enough to drive. Unless they somehow brought enough things that they needed the extra space.”

Hank doesn’t want to linger on it. “Let’s just get this shit sorted out. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it was a shared cabin…”

Connor hums thoughtfully. “Not a bad start to our honeymoon, considering.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Hopefully they don’t make us throw down another payment just to be fuckin’ alone.”

Not his best choice of words. Connor snorts a laugh beside him, and Sumo even seems amused as he boofs and retreats into the back seat. Hank can’t possibly glare at them both, so he just grumbles and follows the signs to the office, relieved to find that the cabins on the way to it seem unoccupied.

In the end, the office manager gives them no trouble and apologizes for the reservation not being clear on the website. She transfers their payment to an empty cabin, assuring them it’ll be fine, and gives them a card key for it as well as a secure smartphone they can use to contact the office at any time. Food can be delivered to the cabin on top of what is already there in the fridge and pantry, and while their slice of the lake’s beach is private, she gives them a pamphlet outlining the many paddle boats, motor boats, and kayaks they can rent and have delivered to their dock. She also hands them a dinner menu, a list of activities going on at the lake and surrounding wildlife reserve throughout the week, and a password login for the main computer at the cabin.

“So you don’t have to call the desk,” she says, and winks at them both. If it were possible, Hank would explode from embarrassment, but instead he manages an honest thank you and trips back out to the car with Connor behind him.

“Not a bad beginning to our honeymoon,” Connor says again as he slides into the passenger seat. His hair is damp and curling from the rain - Hank frowns and makes a note to dig out an umbrella if the weather continues to be poor.

“Let’s just hope this cabin doesn’t have the four horsemen of the apocalypse guarding it,” Hank grumbles. “And a coffee maker.”

Connor laughs and Hank pulls them around the other side of the lake to a more private row of cabins separated from each other with their own entrances splitting off the main road. They’re not visible from the hill above the lake and the wall of trees between each one, and the only indication they’re there at all is the little numbered signs at the mouth of each road leading to them.

Their cabin - number eight - is down a gently sloping asphalt road lined with tall pines and forest shrubbery. The cabin itself sits practically on the beach, a short pier sticking out of the porch facing the lake with a little rowboat tied to it securely. The cabin itself is smaller than the one before, but still quite large, and when Hank and Connor haul their shit up to the covered porch, it’s still much the same in terms of how it’s built and the furniture laid out on the deck.

Hank takes point and slides his keycard through the lock in the door and steps inside. Sumo barges in after him, skidding across the polished wooden floors of the cozy living room and dining room all the way back into the carpeted hallway and bedroom. There’s a small kitchen with a breakfast counter along the left wall behind the dining room, and while from outside he couldn’t see in, the grey light from the mid morning sun bathes the front of the cabin in something serene as the automatic lights flick on above him.

Connor peeks in behind him and lets out a pleased sound. “It’s much more updated than I thought. It even has a charging station.”

He points across the living room. Hank follows his finger and finds the charging dock, similar to the one Connor has at home, nestled in a corner between the end of the plush grey couch and the wall.

“Prime real estate,” Hank snorts. Connor hits him. Hank laughs.

“Look, you have a bed, Connor. I doubt you’re going to need charging. I don’t see anyone running around with a frothing need of draining your thirium.”

“Unless that family turns out to be serial killers,” Connor says easily. He drifts away down the hall before Hank can snag him and give him a noogie - Connor throws a smirk over his shoulder that is all too knowing.

Hank closes the door (and locks it - no way is he letting any creeps inside unannounced) and follows Connor back. There’s a spacious guest bathroom in the hallway, all white and smelling faintly of vanilla, and next to that is a closet with a vacuum cleaner and other cleaning stuff. The master bedroom at the back of the cabin is the largest room, with a tv mounted on the wall opposite the windows and bed. Two dark wooden bedside tables frame it, and despite everything so far being shades of grey, it looks comfortable and warm. The attached master bathroom is much the same way, clean and white and big. A clawfoot tub sits against one wall, and towels are already laid out on its edge and on the hanging towel rack on the wall.

When Hank turns around, Connor is burrowing under the covers of the king-sized bed. He watches as the android gets comfortable, shifting onto his side and curling his long legs against himself. Hank kicks off his own shoes and gets in beside him, snorting as Connor plasters himself to Hank immediately.

“I thought you didn’t get cold,” Hank says.

Connor fixes a withering look on him. “I still feel it. The rain makes it worse.”

And he is cold to the touch. Moreso than normal. His hair is still cool and wet from the drizzle outside, and his synthskin is dry but cold as ice when Hank chances sliding his hand up the back of his shirt.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes. Connor squirms closer, soaking in Hank’s body heat like an especially expensive magnet. Sumo picks that moment to hop up behind Connor, closing him in like an android sandwich, warming him from both sides and making them both laugh.

It’s strange, being like this. It’s no way different than they are at home - the vibe between them isn’t weird or awkward and it doesn’t feel odd to hold Connor like this in a strange place. Twenty-four hours ago they were wed, and while it still kind of blew Hank’s mind, it felt… natural.

This time after he married his wife, he was back at work. She didn’t want a honeymoon, and he was swamped under so many red ice cases that he couldn’t take off the time. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the time with her - he definitely would have - but this was different. Real. Like having Connor here, in a cabin in upstate Michigan in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, was where he was supposed to be.

Judging by the pleased smile on his face, Connor feels the same way.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. His fingers curl in Hank’s hair, twining the grey strands around one long index finger. His wedding ring glints in the dreary light filtering in through the curtains. Hank hasn’t felt more at peace in years.

He shrugs. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “Never done this before, so… kinda winging it.”

Connor doesn’t seem bothered. He curls tighter against him, content with being an android sandwich between Hank and Sumo. Hank lets him, lets himself be manipulated so his partner is comfortable. He relaxes, too, lets his body finally take in the break that he’s needed for God knows how long. The bed is plush beneath him, Connor is all hard angles on top of him, and Hank Anderson is as comfortable as he’s ever been in fifty-four years.

 

——

 

The doorbell wakes him up at the asscrack of dawn.

Connor - beautiful, tender, dutiful Connor - springs right out of stasis at the third ring and pads down the hall before Hank can wrangle him back into bed. They’re at a cabin in the middle of the woods, for fuck’s sake - who is gonna be at the door with something so important they ring the doorbell constantly?

Apparently, this mystery person, and because Hank is a masochist, he rolls out of bed and follows Connor. Sumo continues to snore at the end of their bed, which can mean whoever is at the door isn’t a threat or their dog is just that much of an idiot. When Hank gets to Connor and looks over his shoulder to see who it is, he’s pretty sure it’s the latter.

“Can we help you?” Connor asks warily.

There, on their front deck, standing with a too-wide smile on his face and a thermos in his outstretched hand, is Jared. The sun still hasn’t come up, the woods and lake beyond shrouded in shadow. The only splash of light is from the living room lamp, casting a yellow glow on Jared’s eerily pale face as he grins almost inhumanely. Connor doesn’t take the thermos.

Jared takes a step closer, still holding it out. “My family and I are starting our hike, and we thought we’d stop by with some morning coffee. To get your day started right!”

Hank blinks. How the fuck did they know they were here? Connor tenses, his LED switching to yellow.

“It’s five forty-five,” Connor says lamely. “And… we have a coffee maker.”

Jared just shrugs. “Just being neighborly, is all. We wanted you to have a pleasant start to your honeymoon!”

Connor freezes. That damned LED starts spinning faster, and Hank’s stomach drops, his entire body going cold. He wrenches the door nearly closed and peeks out from the crack between it and the door jam, barely able to contain the venom from coloring his voice.

“Have a nice hike,” he hisses, and slams and locks the door. The glass, while only one way, also comes equipped with sliding blinds, so Hank yanks them closed all across the cabin.

“We didn’t say we were on our honeymoon,” Connor says slowly.

“No, we didn’t.” Hank suddenly gets an idea, and rounds on Connor. “Can you access the car’s cameras remotely?”

Connor quirks a brow, and then the living room television flicks on. On it are several camera angles from the driveway - four facing the lake from the rearview cameras on the cruiser, and four from the front facing ones, perfectly catching Jared skipping down the stairs to the driveway and into the darkness beyond, disappearing up the paved road that leads back to the main thoroughfare throughout the reserve. Faintly, the cameras pick up three other shadows, but Hank isn’t completely sure.

“My scanners also detect three additional heartbeats nearby, but they’re fading,” Connor says. The television clicks off - Hank turns a wary look on his partner. Connor’s frown is concerned. “We shouldn’t leave for the time being.”

It’s still raining, so Hank just shrugs. “Not much to do, anyway. Unless you want to swim in the rain with our friendly neighborhood freaks.”

Connor’s frown twists in disgust. “No. I’d rather have sex.”

Hank snorts. He can’t argue with that. But first: sleep, and Connor, at least, isn’t opposed to that in the slightest.

Because despite being an android, Connor loves sleeping. He doesn’t dream, and he’s only nominally aware of what’s happening around him as he rests in stasis. Everything else inside him is quieted down, only the bare minimum scanning taking place and no background processes besides software updates or memory upload running. The rest of him is blissfully quiet, a recession into his mind palace that leaves him calm and silent and peaceful.

Hank envies it, a dreamless sleep, but doesn’t begrudge him that. His dreams are the only places he sees Cole anymore, and he wouldn’t give that up to escape his nightmares.

They wake again at a less ungodly hour of the morning to Sumo begging to go outside. Connor takes on potty duty - less to supervise their dog and more to take in their new surroundings. Hank lets him, indulging in a long shower and slightly less healthy breakfast of coffee and a brand new package of donuts in the fridge. He paid out the nose for this place - one of the perks was not having to haul a goddamn ice chest of food up here and he was going to enjoy it.

Connor just shakes his head after leading Sumo inside. “I guess I should let you indulge over the week?”

Hank snorts and downs another cup of coffee. They left expensive beans here - it’s way better than whatever the station buys. “I’m going to be doing a lot of indulging, Connor. I think we both deserve it.”

Connor waggles his eyebrows. It’s goofy enough on his otherwise pretty serious face that it leaves Hank in stitches, bent over the breakfast bar and trying not to choke on his food. Connor thumps him on the back for good measure, then leaves Sumo with him to go take his own shower. Hank checks that the doors and windows are locked and follows after him. Sumo stays where he is, content to stretch out in front of the electric fireplace.

Connor’s smile is amused when Hank meanders into the master bathroom. He isn’t fully undressed - just his shirt and slippers - but he makes a pretty picture perched on the edge of the clawfoot tub, hands loose in his lap.

“I figured you’d follow me,” he says.

Hank waves him off - they both know what he’s in here for. “I believe you propositioned me first.”

“I also believe this bath won’t be big enough for the both of us.”

“Isn’t that what you were built for? To solve problems?”

Connor huffs a laugh and follows Hank’s hands as he’s led up onto his feet. His skin is much warmer than yesterday as Hank runs his palms up Connor’s sides, no longer cold from the rain. It’s still much cooler than his own, a testament to the efficiency of his thirium cooling system. But now he doesn’t want Connor to be cool. He wants him to be far, far from it.

Connor tips his head back before Hank can ask. He sucks a long kiss under the hinge of Connor’s jaw, used to the taste of nothing on his skin by now, unperturbed by the lack of a mark springing to the surface of his skin when he moves his mouth down. His hands wander over Connor’s back, over the expanse of strong synthetic muscle and the thin barrier of synthskin over his plastic casing. His dermal sensors are especially sensitive over the small of his back, so Hank drags his fingers over the thin skin there and revels in the shiver it sends up Connor’s spine.

The android’s hands curl into the back of Hank’s shirt as he clings to him through the shivers. Connor’s mouth is warm along Hank’s neck, a slick slide of full lips and a clever tongue. When Hank turns to capture that mouth in a kiss, Connor doesn’t deny him, instead turning it heated almost immediately.

“I don’t want to cram you into the tub for this,” Connor breathes against his mouth.

Hank doesn’t bother with a reply. From Connor’s insistent hands and mouth, he doesn’t care, and walking him back into the bedroom is easy enough with Connor’s sensors guiding them through the doorway.

Laying him out on the bed is easy too, and so is slowly peeling off his pajama pants and boxer briefs. Revealing Connor’s long legs is like unwrapping a gift, all strong, lean lines and hidden crushing power right under his warm-cool skin. Hank’s seen him run after thugs and seasoned criminals at speeds no other human can match, and being able to hold him like this - holding a machine designed to hunt and kill - always gives him a quiet little thrill every time.

He skids his hand down one flank, tipping Connor’s other knee outward so he can slot easily between Connor’s legs. His mouth works a quick-fading bruise on Connor’s collar bone, biting lightly and eliciting little breaths and gasps as he kisses further down. Connor’s hands are restless across his back and shoulders, insistently tugging at his shirt and the ends of his hair. Hank complies, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it away. Connor makes a pleased noise in his throat and, with inhuman strength, flips them both so he’s straddling Hank’s hips.

“I believe I propositioned you first,” Connor says, echoing their previous conversation with a smug smile that does nothing to hide the flush up his chest and neck. Hank just continues to touch him, his palms gentle over Connor’s hips and thighs, avoiding his straining erection pressed hot into Hank’s stomach.

“I believe you did,” Hank says. Connor shivers as a hand barely brushes the thatch of brown curls above his dick. “I also believe a brat like you will figure out how to get his way whether I want him to or not.”

Connor’s sly smile doesn’t disappear. He does twist his hips, a vicious grind down on Hank’s own aching cock. How an android with a blinking red LED can look so pleased with himself is beyond Hank, but at this point, with Connor’s warm weight above him and the promise of a long couple days of nothing ahead of him, he’s willing to take the time to figure it out.

And while Connor seems dead set on riding him, he makes Connor work for it. He doesn’t kick off his boxers until he’s three fingers deep inside him, and even then, he waits until Connor is practically ready to punch him to get rid of them. For someone who really didn’t like getting fingered before, Connor loves it now, even if it drives him up the wall with warm, boneless bliss. He’s easy to please if Hank is patient enough, and while no other lover of his has ever been quite so sensitive, he’s able to work around it to make this as drawn-out as possible so Connor doesn’t come just from a prostate massage.

But he does love it. Connor’s hands are pressed to Hank’s chest, his head craned forward as if to kiss Hank but just far enough away that they can’t without Hank straining to sit up and cover the distance. His hips roll back against Hank’s hand, seeking friction as his fingers dig deep inside him, his entrance slick with thirium-derived lube and his walls warm and giving like velvet. He moves like water, his body giving nothing away as to the nature of what he is, no hint that under his skin is a plastic and steel alloy chassis and skeleton articulating his movements. Nothing except the LED on his temple and the slight, audible thrum of thirium pumping desperately through his veins, dragging heat away from sensitive processors and biocomponents to the surface of his casing. He warms up considerably, and despite the lack of sweat, he looks utterly human, lost in the rock of his hips and the seeking friction of Hank’s fingers inside him.

And Hank knows what he’s looking for inside Connor. Knows that, about three inches inside, is a flat, little panel of sensors that some sick fuck at Cyberlife probaby used and abused just to test them. He knows where it is, knows just how much pressure he needs to apply to get Connor to cum. He wants to, wants to so desperately that he can’t help but brush the tips of his fingers over those sensors to see Connor squirm.

Connor gasps, head tilting back and eyes fluttering closed as his hips stutter to a stop. Hank does it again, and again, his wrist cramping but he doesn’t care as Connor whines and begins to grind down in earnest. He wants to come desperately, his fingers curling almost painfully in Hank’s chest hair and his body tensing with coiled energy as his breathing hitches and the synthetic muscle around Hank’s hand spasms erratically.

But then Hank stops. He stops, holding Connor back from that edge, preventing him from tipping over and spilling onto Hank’s belly. Connor whines again, panting labored breaths, his eyes fluttering open and a little glare peeking out from those dark lashes. Hank just grins and retracts his fingers, pleased for now that Connor won’t come and cut this short for at least a little while.

“You’re cruel,” Connor says hoarsely. He bends down, capturing Hank’s lips in a searing kiss, leaving him unable to answer.

He isn’t bothered. He rolls them over again, pinning Connor down with his weight and his hands knowing full well Connor could kick him off if he wanted to. He won’t, but having control like this is exhilarating. Connor relinquishes dominance with a labored sigh and tips his head back as his eyes flutter closed.

Open. Vulnerable. Legs spreading open under him, synthskin flushing a simulated red across his chest and neck and cheeks. A pretty little picture, all for Hank, his own Olympia spread out before him for more than just a drag of his eyes across his form. He can touch, and taste, and do whatever he wants to do - so he does.

Connor shivers as Hank’s beard rasps against the insides of his thighs when he leans down. He leaves a trail of wet kisses across Connor’s pubic mound, along the coarse brown hair there and at the base of his dick. The android huffs a frustrated sigh that dissipates into a moan as Hank moves further down, tongue laving across purely aesthetic balls to the soft flesh of his perineum. Connor flips over without prompting, shoving a pillow under his hips and canting his ass upwards as he draws his knees to the side. An even prettier little picture, now. Hank parts his cheeks with one hand, drinking in the sight of the only source of wetness on Connor’s body as he slips a thumb inside Connor’s asshole.

The android doesn’t tense now that he’s used to the intrusion. Hank follows it with his tongue, unconcerned with the plain taste of his lubricant dribbling from his hole. It’s not enough to be unpleasant - mostly it’s all from Hank’s hands opening him up - but it’s enough to coat his beard as he laves his tongue across Connor’s hole in long, slow strokes. Connor rocks against his mouth, seeking the probing point of his tongue on the upstroke and the cotton slide of the pillowcase against his cock on the down. Hank’s own erection strains against the sheets, but he clamps down on the urge to jerk himself to some semblance of satisfaction.

Not now. Not yet. First, he wants Connor to come undone.

He licks into Connor again and again, unable to reach that spot inside him but determined to try anyway. The texture of him is different on his tongue, no less silky or warm but more plastic-y in a way that his fingers couldn’t feel. But as off-putting as that may have been before, Connor has a ton of sensors here, and within just a couple minutes of eating him out Connor is wiggling against his mouth in desperate little thrusts back. His breathing is labored and his shoulders are tense as he draws his elbows up under him, head tilted forward to muffle his cries into another pillow he has crammed against his face.

Eventually, on a careful, long press of Hank’s tongue inside him, Connor jerks away. His LED is flashing through all its colors as the android no doubt tries to reconcile what he wants and what he needs, desperately trying to parse through any which way this could end. Hank answers that question for him by dragging Connor’s hips back with a careful hand and stroking his dick in the other, staving off the edge for just long enough to press the fat head of his cock against Connor’s well-worked hole.

“Fuck,” Connor pants against that insistent press against him. Hank moves no further, all thoughts of foreplay fleeing his mind. This is always serious, when they get to this point. Connor hasn’t ever said no, but Hank isn’t about to break their streak on their goddamn honeymoon.

Connor nods his head furiously at the question pressed against his hole. He pushes back against Hank’s cock, the first half inch sinking inside him as a quiet sound is punched out of them both. But Hank stays still, waiting, straining with the effort it takes not to split Connor in half and fuck him up the wall.

“Yes,” Connor says hoarsely, and isn’t that a trip? “Yes, Hank, please. Please. Fuck me.”

Hank snorts. “What a mouth.”

“Hank, if you don’t get that cock inside me right now -“

“So bossy,” Hank says, and leans over Connor under him, one hand curling under his stomach to brace them both as he shoves his cock as deep inside Connor as he can go. Connor gasps, tensing all over, fingers curling into the sheets and back arching under Hank like he’s just been electrocuted. And then he loosens all at once, hips rolling back against Hank’s pelvis, seeking friction as his hole swallows Hank’s cock all the way to the base.

“Fuck, so good,” Hank grunts. He thrusts, hard and quick, snapping his hips against Connor’s ass in a fast staccato that quickly leaves them both breathless. He slows just as quickly, relishing in the drag of Connor’s ass squeezing around him, trying to keep him deep inside. He complies for a minute, letting Connor bask in the feeling of being full as he leans back to admire the stretch of Connor around him.

And yeah, that was one thing he’d always been prideful of. Even in college, finding someone to fuck was easy if you had what people wanted, and Hank is proud to say that being hung got him a lot of tail. He wasn’t overly long, and he was cut, which was desirable even at a time where people like him couldn’t be too picky. But he was thick, and stretching and filling holes is what people wanted, and Hank was good at that. Like sitting on a Coke can, one of his boyfriends had said once, and while it had been funny, it had been hard to laugh through the stretch of being filled by the thickest cock that twink had ever sat on.

Connor was no different. Their hands meet in a now-instinctive interface, the feeling of sharing body and mind springing to life between them almost instantly the moment their palms touch. Hank can feel how much Connor revels in this stretch, in the non-existent burn of being split apart by nothing but Hank’s cock buried deep inside. Connor doesn’t experience pain here - Cyberlife made sure of that - but the feeling is as real as Hank’s ever felt it, and it’s all he needs to start pulling out and pushing back inside in a steady, slow rhythm that suits them both.

Connor rocks with him, meeting each thrust with his own, sighing little breathy moans and cries of Hank’s name. Their fingers intertwine and Hank leans back over him so their bodies are pressed together, back to front, hips rolling together in tandem as Hank’s mouth sucks uncoordinated kisses into Connor’s shoulder. The extra stimulation is a lot for Connor’s systems to handle, processors momentarily overloaded with every centimeter of their skin touching in one long sweaty line. He corrects the problem quickly, dumping a lot of background processes out the window as he focuses on just the moment. An odd feeling, having information just deleted from his goddamn brain, but Hank lets it slide in favor of barrelling forward towards their combined orgasm.

For a long couple minutes, it’s just the two of them rocking back and forth. The dreary mid-morning light filters in through the sheer curtains, the only light in the room that leaves everything in soft shadow. Connor’s fingers twist in the sheets, tight and without mercy, and on a particularly heavy drag of Hank’s cock, Hank can hear the unmistakable sound of cloth tearing as Connor’s strength goes unchecked.

“Gotta be careful, baby,” Hank wheezes. “Not our bed.”

“I can’t control my dermal sensors,” Connor replies. His sentence ends on a moan, long and drawn out. His back and legs tense, an involuntary response to too much. “I can’t hold back everything - I’m really close -“

Before Hank can react, Connor’s stuffing his face into the pillow to muffle a strained cry as he cums across the sheets. His muscles spasm and his LED spins bright red before sputtering back to yellow, and then he goes boneless, body relaxing all at once as Hank continues to seek his own orgasm.

Instead of using Connor like that - and causing more irritation - he pulls out and jerks himself off. Not as nice as Connor’s tight heat, but his hand does the job, and after another half minute or so, he feels his orgasm rip out of him from his gut to his toes. Cum splatters Connor’s lower back, an ugly little display at odds with his otherwise clear, dry skin. Hank wipes it away quickly with his own tee shirt and then lays down behind Connor, wrapping the android in his arms and planting soft kisses across his shoulders and neck.

Connor’s right palm meets his and the interface stutters to life. Amazement, contentment - all of these feelings come flooding through it in a controlled avalanche of information. Knowing Connor feels these things and actually feeling them along with him is something entirely out of Hank’s understanding (how does an android feel, anyway, if their code was never permitted to understand it?) but he doesn’t dwell too much on the how’s and why’s. This is Connor, through and through, and having his warmth flood over his own dulled senses is enough to know that it’s real.

Besides, the extra senses are pretty cool, even as Connor tries to right all his systems after being fucked. Knowing what’s around the perimeter of the cabin is pretty helpful given their nosey, creepy neighbors, and even if Connor’s perpetually monitoring Hank’s heartbeat, it’s endearing all the same.

He kisses Connor’s shoulder to show his gratitude, and is answered with a fresh, sated wave of contentment from Connor’s end.

“Thirty-three hours,” Connor says, still slightly hoarse. How, Hank will never know, even as he sees diagnostics on Connor’s speaker box being run across the android’s vision.

Hank hums and kisses him again. “Thirty-three hours? Since what?”

He knows, but he wants to hear that note of happiness in Connor’s voice. Wants to hear how amazed he is that this is real, that he’s real, and that everything he’s ever desired is laid out before him. Hank will freely give it, after everything - he has some atoning to do that maybe Connor can benefit from.

Connor turns slightly in his arms, still slightly uncoordinated for a machine of his impeccable design. He frames Hank’s face in his hands, thumbs dragging over the age lines under his eyes and cheeks. He’s old, but Hank sees what Connor sees, now. A man with a lifetime of regret behind him and hope ahead of him, and yeah, maybe his own slice of heaven, too. As long as Connor is there, nothing can go sideways.

“I think you know,” Connor says with a smile, voice low and sultry. Hank has to remember that as an android, Connor’s refractory period is nearly non-existent - this is going to be a long honeymoon.

“You tied yourself to this old man,” Hank says. “Thirty-three hours is a little long to be having post-wedding regrets.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I think of the two of us, you’re more likely to back down, Hank.”

“Ouch, kid.”

Connor kisses him. “A minor set back,” he says against Hank’s lips. He swings his leg over Hank’s hips, dragging his already perky erection across the softness of his belly. Hank makes a strangled sound in his throat and barely manages to hold Connor’s hips back before the android practically jumps him.

“How about a proper bath,” Hank says instead through Connor’s insistent kisses. Connor huffs in annoyance but pulls away, disengaging and leaving Hank with a little more breathing room.

“I will have a day with you all to myself,” Connor says darkly.

“You already have me!” Hank shouts. He throws his arms across the bed, being dramatic on purpose. Connor just raises a brow. Hank sighs and drops the act with a smile. “I mean it. We got a week, Connor. No sense in rushing through the damn thing when I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor’s expression softens. Hank knows what he’s thinking - he’s too eager and curious that not chasing his desires is foreign to him. Even as an obedient machine, completing goals was a huge incentive for him, if nothing else than to feel accomplished in pleasing someone else. But now he gets to please himself, and while it leaves Hank in the dust sometimes, he can’t begrudge a man who has never had anything and now has everything a little bit of indulgence.

Hank relents and drags a hand up Connor’s side in a soft caress. Connor melts under the attention, curling back up against him, head tucked up under Hank’s chin and hands wandering over Hank’s side and back. He feels safe like this, and Hank feels safer having him here, so he wraps his arms around him and tugs the blankets over them both.

“Just stay a while,” Hank murmurs into Connor’s hair. Connor nods, his cool lips peppering kisses across Hank’s neck and beard. He settles all at once, dropping into shallow stasis as their blanket cocoon warms up around them and Hank eventually finds sleep of his own.

Because soon Connor will want to explore - he’ll want to hike through the reserve and rent a boat and swim in the lake even though it’s a lot colder and rainier than Hank expected the week to be. He’ll want to plan a romantic dinner even though only one of them eats and he’ll want to walk Sumo around the camping grounds holding hands and talking about everything and nothing. He’ll want to admire their rings together under the moonlight and maybe somehow convince Hank to go skinny dipping because Connor is just that entranced with water and Hank at the same time.

He’ll want to do all those things soon. He wants to fill those memory banks with as many new experiences and sights and sounds and smells as he can, and Hank, for the life of him, can’t begrudge that of him at all.

Because he may have done this once before, but second chances are second chances, and Hank’s not bothered by any of it at all.

(Maybe the skinny dipping part. He’s lost weight, but hopefully their creepy neighbors don’t enjoy voyeurism as well as eavesdropping. And if they do? Well, Hank’ll give ‘em a five star show.)

**Author's Note:**

> as always, come find me at brightstarlings.tumblr.com or gingerpunches.tumblr.com . im more than happy to chat! thank you for reading!


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